


The Heart of Me

by Cawaiiey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Suggestive Themes, angsts with a happy ending, background gencio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-04-18 10:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14211360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawaiiey/pseuds/Cawaiiey
Summary: Hanzo Shimada is an accountant that lives in the suburbs with his fiance, mechanic Jesse McCree. They have four lovely dogs, a home his best friend Satya helped them decorate, and their own car and motorcycle. He's got everything he could ever ask for here; a loving family, an annoying but sweet little brother, and a handsome future husband.Hanzo is in love.Hanzo is happy.Hanzo is dying.But he doesn't know it yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO THE FIC!!! This is a big collaborative effort between myself and yamiiino, who's been drawing for this fic since we started!! This was originally a big bang project but we ended up dropping out to post on our own!! We really hope you like this, it's 6 chapters plus an epilogue !! Without further ado, here's the first chapter of our fic, The Heart of Me.

_ Falling. Falling. Falling.  _

_ Everything hurts, every part of him. _

_ Blood runs down his arms. His chest. His legs. How many places has he been cut? He can’t even remember. His thoughts are a mess that he can’t organize. _

_ The sky above him his clear. His back is to the ground. All around him there’s the distant sound of screaming. Of gunshots. Of feet pounding against the pavement.  _

_ The air is filled with debris. With gunpowder. With smoke. Despite it all, the sky remains clear. Not a cloud in sight. A perfect day to die. _

_ Even though he can’t see it, he knows the ground is rushing up to meet him.  _

_ Resigned, he closes his eyes. _

_ The sky above him is clear. _

_ His conscience is not. _

_ His back hits the ground with a sickening crunch–  _

Hanzo sits up with a blood-curdling scream, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. His surroundings are dark, unfamiliar– is he dead? Or, worse,  _ captured _ ? His back screams at him, protesting every movement– he was falling just a moment ago–  _ Gods _ , he needs to get help, needs to get to Doctor Ziegler. But can he even walk? Did anyone see him fall? Did they know? The mission.

_ Compromised _ . 

He hit the ground– he hit the ground– he hit the ground– 

“Han? Honey?”

Hanzo sucks in heaving breaths, tears rolling down his cheeks unbidden. There’s so much he needs to do, that he needs to say. Dying with regrets isn’t how he wants to go–  _ Doctor Ziegler? _ He needs to get to her– can he even walk? His legs– are his prosthetics damaged? He can’t feel them. Did anyone see him?  _ Did anyone see–  _

“Han, baby–” 

He grabs at his arms, digging his nails into the meat of each bicep, enough to draw blood, and sucks in stuttering breaths. Every inhale reminds him of the pain, of how it feels as though needles have been driven into every inch of his skin, of the blood that is flowing out of him, unrelenting. Doctor Ziegler. Lucio. Ana Amari. Even Zenyatta. Medic– he needs to call for a medic. Was his communicator damaged from the fall? He can’t hear them in his ear. He hit the  _ ground–  _

“Hanzo!”

He’s going to die out here– he’s going to die. This is it. This is how he’s going to go– alone, flat on his back, broken on the concrete. Who would mourn him? Perhaps Overwatch will, though he doesn’t count on it– he is not truly an important member of this ragtag group of heros. Certainly his brother will, though mostly out of obligation, he’s sure. They hadn’t had nearly enough time to mend the bond he’d broken between them. Selfish as it is, he also hopes  _ he _ will mourn him. Hanzo regrets not telling him, not kissing him. He’d missed his chance. He wishes he had more time– he’s running out of time– of time– 

“Hanzo Shimada!” 

A set of arms wrap around his midsection. A strong, warm chest presses against his back. A chin hooks over his shoulder. A smokey, deep voice croons in his ear.

“Hanzo. Hanzo, shhh, ‘s okay baby,” it says, arms squeezing and pulling him closer, “I’m right here. You’re safe, ‘s just a dream.” 

_ A dream? _

Hanzo focuses his eyes. The room he’s in is dark but he can still make out a few things. There’s a dresser across from him, a television atop that, a standing lamp in the corner. Posters decorate the walls, none of which he can make out, and there’s a few bookshelves to his right and a door on his left. He’s on a bed with sheets tangled around him. It’s certainly not the war zone he was just in. There’s no screams or gunshots or feet pounding against concrete. Hanzo blinks, expecting the tranquil room he’s in to transform into the nightmarish landscape of his dream.

The person behind him rocks him, slow and gentle, murmuring nonsense in his ear. Their voice is familiar.

“‘S okay, honeybee,” they mumble, arms unwinding from around his waist so they can slide his hands up his arms. They settle on Hanzo’s, which are still gripping his biceps as if they’re his only lifeline. Their presence is warm. Soothing. Entirely welcome, for some reason, though Hanzo doesn’t know who they are. His thoughts are still a mess– he can’t parse dream from reality. 

“I was dreaming?” Hanzo asks, voice barely a hush in the unfamiliar room. The stranger nods, squeezing their hands and loosening Hanzo’s vice grip at the same time. The hands are familiar, calloused and big, covering his own large ones easily.  _ Who…? _

“Yeah, y’were, honeybunch,” the whiskey-smooth voice says in his ear. He relaxes against the thick chest behind him, lets the hands on his pry them off his arms, and goes easily with them as he’s turned to face his bed partner. One of the stranger’s hands buries itself in his hair as they pull Hanzo to rest his face in the crook of their neck. Their arms wrap around him, tight yet yielding, anchoring him to the moment and making him feel safe for the first time since he awoke. 

He sucks in a stuttering breath through his nose– 

He  _ knows  _ who this is. There’s only one person he knows that smells like cigar smoke, automotive fluid, and cheap whiskey. Who’s warm as a furnace, has hands just as big as his, and arms that he can be in for hours. The man that he’s chosen to spend the rest of his life with, as evidenced by the rings they have sitting on their nightstand, waiting to be slipped onto their fingers come morning.

_ Jesse _ . 

Hanzo chokes on a sob as he wraps his arms around his lover, the terror that’s flooding his senses bleeding out of him like he was stuck. Jesse coos softly at him, pulling him tighter against him so he can suck in bracing breaths of his soothing scent. Each inhale calms him down and every exhale pushes the nightmare he’d had away. Gods, it felt so real– phantom pain still skitters underneath his skin, though it’s ebbing away with every passing moment. 

“Shh, baby, I’m right here, was jus’ a dream, it ain’t real,” his fiancé whispers into his hair while running a hand up and down the curve of his shaking spine. He repeats it over and over again, a mantra of, “just a dream,” murmured into his ear, reminding him of where he is. 

That’s right, he’s right. It wasn’t real, it  _ isn’t _ real. Jesse is here. Hanzo is here. He’s  _ safe _ . And right where he wants to be, in his lover’s arms. 

It takes quite some time to calm down. Jesse holds him as his sobs quiet down, lets him kiss along his skin like a man possessed, murmurs quiet assurances in his ear. It feels like hours that they sit there in the dark, McCree’s arms wrapped tightly around him, anchoring him to the moment. Hanzo gulps down lungfuls of his lover’s familiar, calming scent until the weight on his chest diminishes and he can breathe without feeling choked. It’s only then that he feels like he can move, although the wounds he dreamt he had still linger underneath his skin.  

Hanzo pulls back from where he’s cradled against the crook of McCree’s neck to get a good look at his lover. The nightmare he’d been embroiled in had convinced him he and Jesse weren’t together, that he was going to die without ever letting the love of his life know the depth of his affections. Hanzo sucks in a bracing breath, dragging his hands along Jesse’s back and shoulders. He’s solid, warm under his palms– and, more importantly, he’s  _ here _ . 

“Oh Jesse,” Hanzo murmurs, cupping his lover’s face and swiping his thumbs along his stubble-covered cheeks, “Jesse… it was so  _ real _ , I– I thought– We–” 

He can’t push the words out of his rapidly tightening throat. Tears prick at his already tired eyes. His lower lip quivers. The dream is fresh, phantom pains still palpable all across his skin. The only thing grounding him to the moment is  _ Jesse _ .

His lover turns his head and kisses his palm, warm lips soothing him again. “Shh, darlin’, Hanzo, you don’t have to say a word,” Jesse assures him, skating his fingers along the curve of his arms until he can wrap them around his wrists, “I know, I know. Come here, Han, lemme just–”

McCree tugs him forward using his wrists, pulling him closer until Hanzo’s arms are wrapped around his lover’s neck and their chests are pressed together. The contact is needed, desperately so, as it grounds him and keeps him from panicking any more than he already is. Jesse kisses sweetly at his collarbone, up his neck, along his cheeks. The nightmare that clings to his mind steadily falls away with every kiss. By the time his lips press to Hanzo’s, the phantom pains and the nightmarish landscape are mere vestiges, barely clinging to him. 

Here, in his fiance’s arms, in the home they have together, in the place he belongs, he knows he’s safe. 

Jesse lays them down, his left arm curled in a protective manner around his waist. Hanzo wraps his arms tightly around his lover, sharing his warmth and delighting in the comfort that his presence brings. Sooner than he expects, he feels a familiar heaviness on his eyelids, sleep a siren’s call that he can’t ignore. He nuzzles into his love’s hairy chest, eyes closed and a smile spread across his face. McCree strokes his hair with his right hand, murmuring nonsense that Hanzo doesn’t even hear but appreciates nonetheless. 

“This is… like a dream,” Hanzo slurs lethargically, thinking of how his nightmare had ended in him falling and striking the ground. He’s quick to banish the memory, as just the thought has his body aching, especially his head. With a content sigh, he snuggles impossibly further into McCree’s chest, his headache bleeding away just as fast as it flared up, and smiles when his fiance presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head. 

“I can assure you, honey,” his lover whispers into his hair, left hand stroking up and down the curve of his back, “that this ain’t a dream.”

Hanzo doesn’t have the mental capacity to respond to his lover as sleep overtakes him. It’s easy to slip into a dreamless slumber with his lover’s gentle, slightly cold fingers drawing soothing patterns into the skin of his back. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ Soft. Solid. Sweet.  _

_ Everything is warm, every part of him. _

_ A pair of arms wrap around him. Chest presses against his back. Hairy legs tangle with his.  _

_ Sleep clings to him, keeping him under the veil of consciousness, though he can feel the person in bed with him shifting behind him. _

_ Warm, familiar hands smooth up his arms. The distant sound of chirping birds reaches him, despite knowing on some level they’re outside. All around him is the tranquil feeling of safety. Of home. Of love.  _

_ Hazily, he opens his eyes _ . 

Morning light filters, lazy and warm, through the blinds of their windows, highlighting the lethargic sway of dust motes in the air. The room is far more familiar than it was when he was startled awake last night. Hanzo takes stock of his surroundings with bleary eyes, vestiges of sleep still clinging to his lashes. The posters are clear with the light shining into their room– Hanzo’s lips quirk up in a lazy smile at the Western movie characters staring back at him from where they’re printed on glossy paper. He’s come to love the cheesy films and their overexaggerated plots due to the very man in bed behind him. 

Speaking of, Jesse’s lips at the back of his neck, breath from his nose tickling the shaved part of his head. Hanzo sighs contentedly and squirms closer to his lover, eyes slipping shut as he gives in to the siren’s call of slumber that’s been beckoning him back since he’d first opened his eyes. He dozes, warm and happy, in the circle of his future husband’s arms.

When Hanzo wakes again, it’s without the help of his alarm.

Which, really, is quite a blessing. It’s incredibly hard dragging himself out of bed in the first place, especially considering he has to extricate himself from his lover’s warm embrace. Waking up to the incessant beeping of their old digital clock is damn near torturous in comparison to McCree peppering kisses along every curve of his face. The wiry hairs of his beard tickle his skin, sending Hanzo into a fit of sleepy giggles as he weakly pushes at his fiance’s shoulders. 

He rather prefers this wake-up call, considering every kiss is accompanied by a pet name. A, “darlin’,” against his temple, “love,” against his nose, “sweetheart,” washes over his cheek, and, “honeybee,” on his chin. He’s content enough that he doesn’t even mind his the occasional puff of morning breath, too busy soaking up his fiance’s affections to complain. Lethargic in his movements, he winds his arms around Jesse’s shoulders, encouraging him to continue his attack of kisses, which he does  _ gladly _ . 

Their room is calm, quiet (save for his laughter, although even that is soft),  _ home _ – a stark contrast to the hellish nightmare that had woken him the night prior. Hanzo can barely remember it now, likely on account of his lovely fiance, who finally relents in his assault on his face, and moves to prop himself up with one arm on his side, facing Hanzo. Looking up at him and the love in his eyes, the curve of his stubble-covered jaw, how he smiles at Hanzo like he’s the most important thing in the world… It makes him wonder how he got so lucky.

“Good morning, baby,” McCree murmurs, reaching up and stroking his fingers through Hanzo’s hair with a look of quiet reverence on his face, “Didja sleep any better after yer nightmare?” 

Hanzo nods, snuggling closer to his lover in an attempt to coax the man back into laying down, despite knowing the both of them have to work today. Their soft bed, with the covers mussed all about them, and McCree’s smile is all that matters at the moment. Hanzo moves to curl one arm around Jesse, wondering how long he can make this moment last, and where to put his hands to spur his fiance into resuming the kisses he had quit showering him with so  _ suddenly _ – 

“Oh, hold on a moment, darlin’,” Jesse abruptly says before he pushes himself up and off the bed, leaving him there blinking and suddenly cold.  _ Where are you going? _ Hanzo wants to ask, an unbidden pout already forming on his lips. McCree is at the door of their room in an instant, out of his reach before he can even  _ think _ about protesting his actions. Well, fine then. If McCree didn’t want more early morning cuddles, who was he to complain? Hanzo settles for rolling over onto his back with the covers tucked around him, unwilling to leave the warm cocoon of blankets, and watches his lover pad across the plush carpet of their bedroom, already reaching for their door. 

He’ll just have to make do with watching him leave. Which he does, dragging his eyes appreciatively down the muscular plane of his back with a smile. Perhaps they could both take a half day at work today… surely he needs time to recover after that traumatic dream last night, and what better way to do that then with– 

“Pretty sure a few others wanna say good morning, sweetheart,” Jesse calls over his shoulder, interrupting Hanzo’s lascivious thought process. He doesn’t have a moment to ask who before his future husband throws open the door to their room. 

Like a trio of rockets, three furry creatures bound into their room and onto the bed before Hanzo can even blink. 

If he couldn’t hold back his giggles when McCree’s rough-and-tumble beard had been tickling his face earlier, he  _ really _ couldn’t stifle himself when the tongues of all three of his dogs start licking over his chest, arms, and face with the fervor only happy pups can manage.

“Hah! Good morning, good morning!” Hanzo practically squeals, reaching up with one hand and grabbing at the pale blue collar around his Samoyed Yuki’s neck in an effort to get her to stop assaulting his face for just a moment, while his Akita Soba is attempting to lick the entirety of his other hand off. Yuki’s soft, long, snow white fur tickles his cheeks and his hand from where it brushes against him. His fiance’s pitbull Bella wriggles on the bed, trying to shove her face closer to his so she can kiss him just as much as Yuki is and whining when she’s unable to get his Samoyed out of the way. Her smooth, slick fur rubs against his bicep where she’s wiggling wildly. 

If he’s going to die any time soon, he’d take being buried underneath almost every single one of their dogs than falling to his doom like in his dream the night prior. 

“Jesse, please! Hah,” Hanzo begs between giggles, using the hand that’s not soaked in Soba’s slobber to grope in the general direction of his fiance. The dogs take the advantage of not being held back by throwing themselves at him until a mess of fur– grey, black and brown, and white– is all he can see. “I cannot take anymore! Save me!” Opening his mouth is a bad idea, he finds as he narrowly avoids getting a French kiss from Yuki, only managing otherwise when he clamps his mouth shut at the last second. 

Jesse– the absolute madman– can barely hold back his boisterous laughter as he walks over to their bed. For a moment, he looks as if he’ll let the dogs continue their loving assault but he blessedly decides to show Hanzo some mercy when he levels him with a pout. With an over exaggerated roll of his eyes, he waves his hands at their pups. 

“Alright, alright, go on– get! Yer Papa has had enough lovin’, go on now,” Jesse snaps, though there’s not a hint of anger to his words– only mirth in his sonorous tone and the amber of his eyes. He shoos the dogs out of the way, pushing Yuki over onto her side (his Princess gives McCree a  _ look _ , though doesn’t try to resume kissing him) and Bella away from where she moves to seize the opportunity to kiss Hanzo’s face, and one raised eyebrow at Soba has his Akita’s tongue retreating into his mouth immediately. 

Hanzo, still shaking with giggles and now  _ covered _ in dog hair and puppy slobber, props himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head up to jokingly chastise his future husband when another fluffy creature is shoved into his face. The dog presses her little paws against Hanzo’s face, breath hot on his nose, as warm black eyes stare at him down its short muzzle. Hanzo blinks at their pup, eyes flicking up to Jesse’s just as Tums lets out a short bark.

“Yip!”

McCree peeks at him from behind their Pomeranian, Tumbleweed, and smiles toothily. “Can Papa stand one more puppy kiss? Can’t leave lil’ ol’ Tums out of this, can ya?” He gently shakes Tums a bit, shooting Hanzo a pout over their fluffiest daughter that is entirely unnecessary as he could not even  _ think _ about denying either of them a single request.

“Why not,” he jokes, one brow arched at his lover, “My face is already covered in dog spit– what is another kiss? Besides, I do not want to hurt our daughter’s feelings.”

Hanzo leans in, eyes closed, and lets Tums lick the tip of his nose a few times, shoulders shaking with restrained laughter at the feeling. McCree laughs at the way his nose wrinkles, calling him  _ adorable _ in that voice of his that’s dripping with adoration, and gently places Tumbleweed on their bed. The space on the mattress is mostly taken up by dogs now, save for the spot where he’s lying. Hanzo flops backwards, settling against the now-cold pillow while sucking in a content breath. The warmth of his pups is tangible from where they’re strewn across three-quarters of his bed, all panting and smiling at being close to both of their parents. Jesse clambers on top of him, laying his head down on his chest as he wiggles his hands underneath Hanzo’s back, joy radiating off of him at just… being there, being close, being  _ with him _ . 

“Jus’ wanna make sure you’re alright,” Jesse mumbles into the plush swell of his chest, “Ya really scared me last night, Han.”

Hanzo inhales the scent of his lover and exhales pure bliss. He is… in heaven.

“I am doing perfectly,” Hanzo tells him, wrapping his arms around McCree’s shoulders, “Especially now.”

They breathe together in tandem. Jesse rubs his thumb against the small of his back as best as he can, while Hanzo dances his fingers along the muscular planes of his lover’s shoulders. Bella rests her head on the back of Jesse’s calf while Yuki twists around to curl up as close to Hanzo as he can. With a peek out of the corner of his eye, he notices Tums climbing onto Soba’s back and settling down against his short fur, head hooked over the folds on the back of his neck. All at once, he feels a calm and content feeling wash over the six of them. 

Everything with Jesse always feels so  _ right _ . 

As much as he enjoys snuggling with his fiance and their dogs, and as much as he wants to stay in their bed all day together, they do need to get up and face the work day that is getting closer and closer the longer they dawdle. Reluctantly, he taps on Jesse’s back, disturbing both Yuki and his lover. McCree tilts his head up, chin resting in his cleavage, and pouts up at Hanzo before he can even say a word. 

“Don’t start,” Hanzo warns, pressing a finger to his fiance’s lips as soon as he goes to open his mouth, “You know we cannot take the day off. The more days we take, the less time we have for the wedding and our honeymoon.”

McCree sucks in a breath at that, as if he’s still going to argue his point. Hanzo cocks a brow at him,  _ daring _ him to try to say anything to rebuke him. Jesse closes his mouth at his look and deflates a moment later. 

“I know yer right,” Jesse says, “Jus’ don’t wanna get up is all.” 

“The feeling is mutual, Jesse,” Hanzo pauses briefly to smack his lover’s back, which gets him an exaggerated yelp in return, “Now up. You are heavy and I need a shower.”

“Alright, alright already…” 

It’s with no small amount of reluctance that Jesse unwraps himself from Hanzo, though he makes sure to leave a few hot, wet kisses against his collarbone (which Hanzo will only admit to himself almost wore him down enough to give in to the desire to stay home all day) before he finally pushes himself up and onto his feet. Hanzo hops out of their bed much faster than his fiance. He shoots McCree a  _ look _ over his shoulder (silently saying  _ quit it _ ) as he walks around him to their closet and pulls out a work outfit for the day– a simple black tie, black slacks, and a light blue button down. While he’s there, he grabs out a clean work coverall and undershirt for Jesse. They’ll have to do laundry tonight, he’s down to his last clean coverall, and Gods know working as a mechanic has him coming home reeking of grease and other car fluids that Hanzo hasn’t and will not bother to learn the names of. 

“Oh?” Jesse says behind him, somehow slotted against his back in an instant even though Hanzo hadn’t heard him move, one arm around his waist while he reaches for his own work clothes with the other, “Is this your subtle way of tellin’ me you wanna take a shower together, sugarplum?” 

Hanzo rolls his eyes and smacks his lover’s wrist as he would a spoiled child, though he doesn’t move away from him. That certainly isn’t his intention but, well… He doesn’t  _ not _ want to shower with him, that’s for certain. “On the one condition you will  _ not _ get too handsy. We are already running late enough as is– a quickie in the shower is out of the question.” He twists in Jesse’s grip to press a finger to the tip of his craggy nose, a laugh bubbling out of him when his lover crosses his eyes funnily to keep them on his finger.  _ Dork _ . “Is that understood, cowboy?” 

“Loud and clear, baby,” Jesse purrs, brows waggling in a way that Hanzo cannot help but roll his eyes at, “Gotta be the quickest quickie in the history of quickies then.” 

“Jesse!” 

“Oh darlin’, I’m only kidding!” 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Jesse stays true to his word. Though, he does try to entice Hanzo with hands lingering on his chest while he’s rubbing the soapy loofah along his body, one glare from him cows his lover in an instant. They manage to get out of the shower and changed into their work clothes without any delectable encounters. McCree finishes up faster than Hanzo does (which is normal– despite it being a normal work day, he needs to look  _ impeccable _ . Looking better than at least half the office is a power play Hanzo’s been executing for years now). 

Dusting the stray hairs from shaving off the front of his coveralls, Jesse turns to Hanzo with a happy smile on his face. “Alright sugar, I’m goin’ to get breakfast ready. Want the usual?”

“Yes please.” Hanzo responds softly, entirely too focused on plucking the stray hairs on his brow bone to face his lover at the moment. 

McCree doesn’t mind. He just plants a loud kiss on Hanzo’s cheek, mutters an assurance that he’ll make their usual breakfast “just how he likes it,” and leaves him to finish getting ready. Outside the bathroom door, he can hear their pups jump off the bed and follow McCree as he exits their room, heading towards the kitchen.

Hanzo rushes the rest of his routine, cleaning up his beard and blow drying his hair before he ties it up in a tight ponytail. He does his eyeliner in two quick strokes, a smug smile crossing his features as he inspects the perfect sharp line he has on each lid.  _ Heh, excellent _ . 

He wraps a gold ribbon around the base of his ponytail, smooths his fingers down his beard, and, after giving himself one last cursory look in the mirror, deems himself good enough to go to work now. Hanzo hooks his tie around the back of his neck and ties it as he pads out of their en suite bathroom into their bedroom. Jesse, saint that he is, had come back at some point while Hanzo was getting ready to make their bed, so that’s one more thing off his to-do list this morning. 

The scent of Jesse’s cooking permeates their home. Hanzo feels his stomach growl the minute he steps into the hallway, the delicious smell of fresh eggs and toasted bread assaulting his senses. Sighing happily, he practically skips down the hall into their connected kitchen and dining room area.

Bless Satya for helping them with interior design. Their home looks  _ so _ much better with her assistance. Hanzo doesn’t even want to think about what a mess it would’ve been had she not intervened. He remembers arguing with Jesse over decor (he wanted a couch with a  _ cow print _ on it, for Gods’ sake) once while they were on a double date with his sister Fareeha and her girlfriend and Hanzo’s own coworker Satya. She’d cordially offered her help after bearing witness to their little spat. She’d mentioned dabbling in interior design and showed them a few examples and, before either of them knew it, they’d ended up defering to her on any and all design questions. Satya had managed to create a space for them that satisfied  _ both _ their tastes in an elegant manner. Considering their horrid ideas for the house, Hanzo can admit that having Satya heading the project resulted in a much better, more put-together home– even with the occasional cowboy painting or horseshoe on the walls and his own antique pottery or swords he’d impulse buy and hang up where he saw fit.

Half of their modern marble island in the center of the kitchen, with bar stools on one side of it, is where their full plates and empty glasses are. Jesse is at the sink, hands in the suds as he cleans up the dishes he’d used, whistling while he works. On his way to the fridge to get out orange juice for himself and milk for Jess, he pauses to grab a bite of the cheese-and-pepper filled scrambled eggs on his plate. Hanzo can’t help– though he does try– the soft moan that escapes him as the perfectly seasoned flavor hits his tongue. The sly look Jess shoots him over his shoulder lets him know that he  _ definitely _ heard it. 

“Really, Hanzo Shimada? Makin’ that noise in my good, innocent kitchen?” McCree jabs the fork he’s holding in his direction, brows drawn in faux annoyance. “You kiss your mama with that mouth?” 

Hanzo sticks his tongue out at Jesse and waggles his brows lasciviously. “I kiss more than my mother with this mouth, thank you very much.” That gets him a scandalized gasp in response and a the hand towel slung over Jesse’s shoulder tossed in his direction, though he dodges it with ease and goes back to digging into his breakfast wolfishly. 

How Jesse can manage to make them something so delicious in less than thirty minutes is beyond Hanzo, but he’s certainly not going to complain about it.

He purposely bumps his fiance’s hip as he walks past him, which gets him a flick of soapy water at his back. Hanzo grabs the milk and orange juice out of their fridge and, antagonistic as he is, makes sure to bump Jesse on the way back too. “Oh no you don’t!” McCree exclaims. The sound of water splashing is the only warning he gets before his fiance is reaching for him. Hanzo squeals as he dances out of the way of his lover’s sud-covered hands, turning around to make sure that he can watch Jesse while he moves to put the island between himself and his mischievous lover. 

“Jesse, I don’t need a repeat of last week– changing my work shirt just because you decided to get a little handsy with me while doing the dishes isn’t a part of my morning routine,” he chastises while pouring their drinks. Jesse only laughs at him in response, clearly not the slightest bit guilty. Hanzo’s smile belies his lack of annoyance– really, it’s only soap and water. He just loves giving his future husband a hard time. The smiles they share make it obvious it’s all only in jest.

Hanzo, after a glance at the clock, moves to wolf down his food. They’d taken enough time as it is– any more than ten minutes spent on breakfast and they’ll be late for work. Jesse, after putting away the milk and orange juice containers, seems to realize the same thing, as he starts piling eggs on his bagel and eating as fast as Hanzo is. 

They both manage to finish their food in five minutes, not without some spillage, however. The dogs are there to clean up any scraps they drop, though. Living vacuum cleaners, they are. Hanzo and McCree race back to their room, laughing together as they slide along the wood floor in their socks with their dogs at their heels. They brush their teeth as fast as they can, then are back out to the dining room/kitchen area, running through it into the carpeted living room. Hanzo uses McCree as a brace as he slides his Oxfords on, then McCree uses him the same to shoves his feet into his steel-toed boots. With a quick scritch of the chins of their four pups, they grab their keys out of a fancy bowl Genji had gotten them from a visit to Nepal and are out the door. 

“‘M taking the car today, sugar,” Jesse says as he heads to the driver’s side of their pretty blue Buick. This  _ is _ Hanzo’s car. They’d picked it out together, sure, but considering McCree’s usual ride, it’s his car first and foremost. Hanzo doesn’t question it until he slides into the passenger’s side and buckles up, McCree already sticking the keys in the ignition on his side.

“Not taking the bike today?”

Jesse shakes his head, turning in his seat to keep an eye on where he’s going as he backs out of their driveway. A moment later and they’re driving out of their neighborhood, heading towards the nearest major street so they can get to work. “Nope. The Harley will be fine without me for a day. Wanted to spend a lil’ more time with you, ‘s all.”

Hanzo cannot deny the way his heart skips at that. Even though they’ve been together for years now, Jesse can somehow  _ still _ say things cheesily enough that he ends up clutching his chest and wondering how he got so lucky.  _ McCree is truly the man of his dreams _ , he thinks to himself as he stares at his lover, a dopey smile on his face. He reaches across the center console to rest his hand on Jesse’s thigh. The contact, however small, is always appreciated it. Hanzo can’t remember a time in their relationship when he hasn’t craved Jesse’s touch. Luckily, McCree is always more than willing to indulge him and then some. 

“Still worried about me?” He asks, rubbing circles into his lover’s thigh.

“Can’t help it, Han,” Jesse pauses, shifting so only one hand is on the wheel. He rests his other hand over Hanzo’s, lacing their fingers together easily. “Y’really scared me. Never seen you freak out like that. Was the nightmare really that bad?” 

Hanzo hums at that. At the time, it had felt like the end of the world. Now, though, less than twelve hours from his rude awakening, he can barely remember what he’d been frightened of in the first place. Jesse is good at that, at assuaging his worries and fears. The anxiety and depression he suffers from is better with his cowboy by his side. They both have troubled pasts. Together, they’re heading towards a better future. 

“Yes,” is what he says, “The moment I woke up was truly horrendous–”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”

“– _ but _ you have already made it far better. You are so good to me, Jesse,” Hanzo sighs contentedly, turning his hand in Jesse’s so he can squeeze it, “I cannot imagine a life without you.” 

“Sugar…” Jesse sounds choked up. Hanzo smiles despite himself. His fiance is so emotional, especially when it comes to his displays of affection. At the next red light, he leans over the console and presses a big, loud kiss to his cheek before he goes to sit back in his seat. McCree twists, not letting him get very far, and pulls him back in for a sweet, closed-mouth kiss. Hanzo melts against him, savoring the pressure and the warmth against his lips for as long as he can before they have to split apart so McCree can watch the road. 

The rest of the drive is in comfortable silence, save for Jesse’s whistling or occasional soft singing along to the radio. 

Hanzo, with his hand in Jesse’s, is truly in heaven. 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

“Bye sugarbean,” Jesse calls after him after giving him a long enough smooch that Hanzo actually debates staying in the car rather than going into work, “Have a good day! I’ll see you when you get home!” 

“Goodbye Jesse!” Hanzo yells over his shoulder. He blows his future husband a kiss as he turns around to face him, which McCree catches in his hand and puts in his pocket.  _ For safekeeping _ , he can practically hear him say, like he usually does. He stands at the door to the office building, watching Jesse as he drives off. It’s only when he exits the parking lot that Hanzo finally walks in. 

The smell of an office building is always the same. Crisp, clean, like fresh paper, with recycled air filtered through the building via the vents. Hanzo walks through the climate-controlled building, heading straight towards his desk. The reports he was working on yesterday for the end of the month need to be finished today. While he usually stops to say hello to Satya, Amelie, Mei, and his brother, he’s only a few minutes from the time he needs to be signed into his computer. He’s sure they will be messaging him on Skype the minute that he’s signed in, as they usually do. 

The sound of his messenger going off the minute he signs in and pulls up the spreadsheet he needs has him rolling his eyes. 

**Genji Shimada  
** anija!!! 

**Hanzo Shimada  
** Hello Genji.

 **Genji Shimada  
** ur late today hanzo… what were u up to this morning? ;) 

**Hanzo Shimada**  
Had a rough night’s sleep last night. Jesse was keeping me company is all. :)  
He worries so much, Genji. All I had was a nightmare. 

**Genji Shimada  
** awww wtffff u and mccree are so damn cute ; ; it makes me so happy for u brother !! u have my blessing :) ! 

**Hanzo Shimada  
** Our parents are supposed to give us their blessing, not you lol

 **Genji Shimada  
** well ur getting my blessing anyways u butt >:0 

**Hanzo Shimada**  
Lmao  
How’s it going with that musician? 

**Genji Shimada**  
if Skype had eye emojis i’d send them to u   
tell u more at break! gotta get to work >:T ttyl! 

Hanzo rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics. At least he didn’t open the conversation with a meme this time, as he usually does via text or Facebook. If he had the ability to, Hanzo knows Genji would assault him with abstract memes on every channel available if it was possible. As it is, he’s glad he’s leaving him be. End of the month is a busy time for all employees and Hanzo would like to avoid taking his work home with him on the weekends if he can avoid it. That time is reserved for McCree and him and he plans to take full advantage of it. 

To get to that, however, he needs to get through the work week first. With a crack of his fingers, he puts them to the keys and starts typing.

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Hanzo is, frankly, brain dead by the time they reach lunch break. End of the month reports are horrendous. They have to make sure all the accounts are in order for every customer they have, which is particularly difficult when you work for one of the biggest security companies in the nation. The office isn't buzzing like it normally is with coworkers flitting to and fro, laughter echoing over the walls of cubicles, and light conversation traded back and forth. The only thing Hanzo can hear is the clicking of fingers against keys and the occasional sound of the printer as the Overwatch accounting facility sorts through ledgers and spreadsheets to make sure all the money in their accounts is going to the right places. 

When he glances at his desktop clock and notices the time, he's more than grateful. Gods know he's out here ready to bang his head against the desk if he had to look at another incomplete spreadsheet. 

Hanzo slides his phone out of his desk drawer where he leaves it during the day and pockets it on his way to the break room. Genji's in charge of their lunches today, so he knows they'll be having some sort of traditional (simple, surely) lunch box. Hanzo loves his brother dearly but the man never really learned how to cook much. On the other hand, he had paid more than enough attention to their mother's lessons when they were younger, so he had a culinary repertoire at least double that of his younger sibling. 

"Anija!" Speak of the devil... There he is, at one of the two-person tables, with a bright, neon green Sentai lunchbox on his side and the matching blue Sentai lunchbox on the opposite side. Hanzo grins, sliding between tables and saying hello to his coworkers on his way to his brother. 

"Good morning, Genji," he says, moving to take a seat on his end of the table just as Genji does, "How is my favorite little brother today?" 

"Hanzo, I am your only little brother," Genji points out with a roll of his eyes. He hands Hanzo his pair of chopsticks with a smile splitting his features. Even at 35, he still looks so damn young. At least he doesn't have the green hair anymore. Hanzo isn't sure how he feels about the soul patch he has right now though.

"Those are mere semantics." He says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Eat up, I made croquettes last night." 

"Croquettes? Really?" Hanzo pops open the top of his lunch container and is pleasantly surprised at the contents of it. Fluffy, perfectly cooked rice, three breaded and golden croquettes, a side salad with a cherry tomato in the center of it, and a few hot dogs boiled to look like squid greet him. "This... is something, Genji. You do not usually cook so much, or so nicely." 

"Well," Genji drags out the word far longer than necessary, only piquing Hanzo's curiosity the more syllables he adds, "I may have had some help." 

"Ah... The DJ?" 

Genji's bright smile could have rivaled the sun. 

"Oh, Hanzo, he's so cute! And talented– he helped me make all of this when I told him I could basically only boil rice, and, yeah, he looked up the recipes online, but still– and he's got... Hanzo, he's got dimples!" 

"Oh no, not the dimples." 

"Yes, the dimples!" 

Hanzo smiles at his brother good-naturedly. This sort of talk is just like when he had first started developing a crush on Jesse. Who would have known the mechanic that pulled over on the side of the road to help him with a flat would become his fiance just a few years later? Genji's situation may be different (he met this DJ at a club he'd gone to with some friends a month or so ago) but the way he's gushing and flustered is exactly like Hanzo was back then. 

"I think I'm in love. Can you be in love after two dates, anija?" 

Swallowing a mouthful of the (honestly? perfect) croquette, he opens his mouth to answer, but Genji cuts him off. 

"No, no, I shouldn't rush into this, I don't want to scare him! Like Jesse did with you–"

"Hey, thinking it's weird for a stranger that fixed your tire to ask for your number is a normal reaction."

"Yeah, but if you hadn't taken the chance, you wouldn't have ended up here, now would you?" 

Hanzo rolls his eyes but bites his tongue. He's right, of course, but he won't admit that out loud. Genji's gloating can be... endless. At his silence, his brother launches right back into his gushing, which is more than fine by him. He keeps the conversation going with nods and hums as he eats the lunch box that Genji and his crush had prepared. To be frank, it's better than anything his brother has ever tried to make on his own. Perhaps this DJ becoming his brother's boyfriend won't be such a bad thing. He can endure the lovestruck talk if it means he gets more lunches and dinners made like this.

"Oh, Hanzo?" 

"Mm?" 

"You said earlier that you'd had a nightmare?" Genji's expression changes from a dreamy, faraway look to one of concern. It’s not like him to pry. Genji usually is rather flippant when it comes to something as trivial as a nightmare. Hanzo blinks at him, trying to dig through the memory of the past four hours and coming up with nothing but numbers after numbers after numbers. Had he mentioned anything about a nightmare? What was it even about if he had it? It takes a few moments of thoughtful chewing before it finally comes back to him. 

"Oh, that. Yes, I had one partway through the night." He says with an air of nonchalance.

"What was it about?"

"To be honest with you? I don't really remember," Hanzo admits, "Something about falling, I'm sure. It is not important, though." 

Genji shakes his head at that, a smile breaking through the concerned frown on his lips. "Don't do that to me, anija. And here I was worried about you." 

Hanzo shakes his head with a laugh. "Trust me, Genji. There's nothing to be worried about. Dreams are just dreams– they hold no power over us if we do not let them." 

Genji groans at that, slumping back in his seat dramatically. "I did not ask for you to be extra and philosophical, brother." 

"Heh, it comes with the bloodline."

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

“Hanzo,” a voice, clipped and smooth, says behind him from the opening of his cubicle. 

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know it’s his closest friend aside from his brother and his fiance, but he does anyways, a smile splitting his features as he swings around on his chair to face her. 

“Satya! There you are. I was wondering when you’d give me an audience today,” Hanzo teases. 

His friend rolls her eyes, though her thin lips are quirking up at the corners already, despite herself. She steps into his cubicle in those brilliant teal pumps she and Hanzo had picked out for her during a particularly fun shopping trip. She has a file folder in her arms, though it’s clearly not for him, as it’s already marked with Post-It notes with familiar precise, neat handwriting. Satya looks just as regal as she always does, with a white chiffon blouse and a black pencil skirt wrapped snugly around her legs. 

“My apologies for not making myself known sooner. I was simply keeping you in suspense.” Her voice is smooth and dripping with sarcasm, just what Hanzo expects from the office-infamous Satya Vaswani. He snorts at her, a smile clear on his lips. She can sass all she wants but she’s soft on him and he knows it.

“What brings you to my little slice of paradise, Satya?” Hanzo responds in turn, quirking one well-groomed brow at her in question. Satya’s stern look melts away as she steps further into his cubicle. She’s always calmer and more relaxed in Hanzo’s vicinity. It’s like a safe place for her amongst the normal office chaos, somewhere she can escape to when it all gets to be a bit too much.

She leans a bit against the cubicle wall, a dreamy look on her face that only Hanzo or Fareeha get to see. It tugs at his heart strings, seeing his best friend so happy. “Mine and Fareeha’s anniversary is coming up in a few weeks,” she says, raising one hand to stroke the heavy plait hanging over one of her shoulders. “I am not sure I have anything in my closet suitable enough for such an occasion…” 

Hanzo recognizes that twinkle in her eye and more than understands her thinly veiled invitation. He straightens up in his seat, already mentally picking through outfits, and grins up at his best friend. “I believe I can be of some assistance with that.” Satya beams at him in return. It’s an expression that even  _ he _ doesn’t get to see often and it makes him swell with affection for her.

“Then I’ll see you Sunday, at the usual cafe?” She says as she twists in her spot. Satya is always one to stop in for a quick conversation or to make plans for later at work but she never stays for long. She’s productive and doesn’t like to be away from her desk while at work. Hanzo tells her that he’ll be there and watches his best friend walk away with a bit more of a bounce in her step. With a shake of his head and a smile stuck on his lips, he turns in his chair to face his computer and delves back into his work for the day. 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

"Anija! Is Jesse picking you up today?" 

Hanzo looks up at his brother, who is hanging his arms over the side of his cubicle and peeking over it, from where he's shutting down his computer for the evening. Jesse hadn't said anything about not picking him up. Though, with a quick tap on his phone screen that displays a message from "My Love <3" stating he would be picking up groceries and meeting him at home, the answer to that particular question changes. 

"It seems he is not. Do you mind, Genji?" 

"Not at all," his brother grins at him and hops back down the wall of his cubicle with a soft grunt. Hanzo shakes his head at his antics. Always acting so young. It comes with being the baby brother, he's certain. 

Hanzo follows Genji through the building and out into the parking lot, a smile on his face as he thumbs out a reply to Jesse.  _ Alright, love. Pick up some ice cream? _

_ strawberry? _ is sent back to him a moment later. 

_ Yes, please <3 !!  _

Hanzo pockets his phone and slides into the passenger side of his brother's sleek, neon green car. He'd purchased it in his playboy days and kept it around even after he'd outgrown that lifestyle. At this point, he likely keeps it around for sentimental value. Genji takes good care of his vehicle, though he'll likely have to replace it soon. There's no way it can last forever, despite how much he knows his brother wants it to. 

Genji takes his spot in the driver's side and starts up the car, the roar of the engine deafening for a moment before it quiets down to a gentle purr. He twists in his seat to back out of the space he's in before sliding the gear shift into drive and starting them on the way back to Hanzo's house. 

"Are you coming to lunch with mother and father tomorrow?" Genji asks him rather than turning on the radio, as he usually does. 

"Mmhm, wouldn't miss it. I'm sure mother wants to talk about wedding plans."

Genji barks out a laugh at that, flicking his blinker on and merging into the lane to get on the highway. "That's all she  _ ever  _ talks about nowadays, Hanzo." 

"Well, when you get engaged, she'll be in your ear talking about what flowers will be on the tables and what color your suits will be," Hanzo sticks his pierced tongue out at his younger sibling, which just gets him a good-natured head shake in return, "Until then, you'll have to put up with Jesse and I being the center of attention." 

"Oh bullshit, Han. There's no way you're thriving off this. You hate attention. Unless, of course, it's coming from the love of your life, your big rootin' tootin' cowboy." 

Hanzo huffs at that. He's right, of course. Being the center of attention anywhere can be a bit daunting (he's gotten exceptionally good at putting on airs as though he can handle it or that he's used to it, though he can only keep that up for a short amount of time) so his mother's fixation on his and McCree's wedding is a bit... overwhelming, to say the least. Jesse is there to ground him and keep him from snapping at his mother for her incessant questions, luckily. Hanzo cannot imagine how much he'd upset his mother if Jesse waasn't there to keep him from going crazy. 

"Hey, Hanzo?" Genji says cautiously, snapping him out of his train of thought that was steadily approaching incredibly gay territory. 

"Mmm?"

"I  _ am  _ going to be your best man, right?" 

Of course he is. Hanzo can't think of another person in his life that he'd rather have behind him at the altar. Satya and Mei will likely round out the party of 'groomsmen', as they're the next two closest to him. But Genji will absolutely be his best man, there’s no question about that. 

"We'll see," is what he says instead of any of that.

Genji  _ is  _ his little brother. And what type of brother would Hanzo be if he didn't mess with his sibling from time to time?

"Ha ha. Real funny, anija... you are joking, right?”

Hanzo purposefully ignores his brother, hands shoved into his pockets as he starts to whistle a soft tune, the picture of innocence. Genjis’ stopped right in his tracks where he left him until he suddenly sputters and starts towards him, feet pounding against the pavement. Hanzo has to stifle the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him at his brother’s nervous behavior.

“Right...? Hanzo!"

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

"Goodbye, Genji! I will see you tomorrow!" Hanzo calls over his shoulder with a wave. His younger brother, still pouting from being messed with, only sticks his similarly pierced tongue out at Hanzo in response before he's off, roaring down their neighborhood streets towards the nearest exit. Hanzo rolls his eyes at his behavior, knowing he'll end up getting over it within a few hours. The minute he gets home, he'll end up finding a meme and sending it to Hanzo. All would be forgiven. 

By their car in the drive, Jesse is already home. Hanzo walks up the steps leading to their front door and slides his house key into the lock. A moment later, he's opening their door and stepping into the entryway. He's barely got a minute between closing the door and taking his Oxfords off before he hears the rapid-fire click of their dogs' nails against tile, then hardwood as they go from the kitchen to their living room.

Bella gets to him first. Faster than a speeding bullet is what Jesse always says in reference to her. Soba follows with Yuki right behind him, the two of them practically tripping over their paws in an attempt to reach him. Last, but certainly not least, is Tumbleweed. Her short legs really do put her at a disadvantage when it comes to the Great Puppy Race to Papa. 

Hanzo lavishes his babies with attention, cooing at them and calling them all manner of endearments. He has to bend down completely to get to Tumbs, which he does so to scoop her up in his arms so she can feel the love too. He's so enraptured with the pups that he doesn't even notice Jesse until his lover is snaking his arms around his middle and tugging him as close as they can get with a Pomeranian between them. 

"Welcome home, future Mr. Shimada-McCree," his fiance murmurs down at him, eyes full of love and full lips tugged up in a sweet smile. Hanzo sighs happily, wishing he could wrap his arms around Jesse in return, but they're currently occupied by their panting daughter. Instead, he leans into him, snuggling up against his neck with a content huff of breath. He smells like the last vestiges of his musky cologne, sweat from a hard day, and grease and oil from work. Hanzo sucks in greedy lungfuls of the scent of his future husband, feeling the stress of the day wash away with every inhale.

"I'm home, future Mr. McCree-Shimada." 

Jesse unwraps one arm from around him to reach up and cup the side of his face. Hanzo only gets the swipe of a calloused thumb across his lips before McCree is stealing them, mouth pressed snugly against his. Melting against him, Hanzo eagerly kisses his lover back. This is routine for them at this point, but it never gets old. He could partake of his lips a million times and every kiss would feel like their first. Electric in nature, sending pure heat through his body, and so incredibly intoxicating that Hanzo feels drunk just off McCree's mouth. 

“Missed you, baby,” he murmurs between sizzling kisses, not willing to part too far from the embrace of his lips, “Missed you  _ so _ much.” When Jesse finally pulls away, Hanzo pushes himself up onto his tiptoes to snag a few chaste smooches before he lets him get out of his reach. 

"Had a good day?" Jesse asks him as he takes his hand and starts leading him towards the dining room/kitchen area. Hanzo can smell the beginnings of dinner the closer they get. His stomach rumbles at the mere thought of his future husband's cooking. It’s one of the many things Jesse is talented at. A jack of all trades, it seems. Every year, he finds out a new talent of McCree’s, an unending wealth of surprises. They round the corner of the hallway and Hanzo spots the beginnings of a fresh salad on the counter, an empty bag of mozzarella, and a pot that likely had pasta sauce in it. The scent of cooking pasta and cheese from the oven wafts over to him, tantalizing. Smelling it is just causing the organ to loudly complain about the lack of food inside of it. 

"For the most part. End of month is such a difficult time," Hanzo sighs, ignoring his stomach’s protests before letting go of Jesse's hand so he can bend over and let their wriggling daughter down. He smiles as he stands back up, returning his hand to its rightful spot in Jesse's as he continues, "It is far better now that I'm home with you." 

Jesse's face screws up in a smile that he's clearly trying to suppress, eyebrows knitted and eyes suddenly glistening with welling tears. Hanzo barely has a moment to react to that before Jesse is wrapping his arms around his waist and picking him up. 

"Oh, darlin'," McCree exclaims, twirling them in place, despite the dogs barking at them, and grinning up at him even as Hanzo squeaks loudly in protest at the treatment, "You got no clue– I'm the luckiest man in the whole wide world with you by my side. Hearin' you say such sweet things about lil' ol' me got my heart full to burstin' baby." 

Hanzo wraps his arms around Jesse's shoulders– in part because he doesn't want to fall, but mostly because he wants to bring him as close as he can possibly get– and lets out gasping laughs at his future husband's overly sweet words. He's so dramatic, so zealous when it comes to his affections. Hanzo wouldn't have him any other way. 

When they stop spinning finally, Hanzo bends down and presses their lips together soundly. Jesse hums happily into the kiss, still keeping him held up high, and moves his mouth against his with determination. If it weren't for the smell of cooking food, Hanzo would've suggested they... "retire" early. As it is, he only kisses him for a minute or two before he pulls back to look down into the sweetest, most love-filled amber eyes. Jesse continues to hold him up for another minute after that, just staring at him and humming a love song in the back of his throat, before he finally lets him down. 

"Alright, sugarbean, I'm gonna go finish cookin' dinner and then we’ll have some dessert, then we can get cleaned up and go to bed," Jesse says, giving him one last squeeze that Hanzo returns happily, "Sound good?" 

"Sounds perfect, my love." 

McCree beams down at him and, as if he can't help himself, bends down for a quick, chaste kiss before he finally extricates himself from around him and walks over to the stove. Hanzo watches him go, feeling dizzy from being spun around and from the love he'd been lavished with, with a smile stuck on his face. Good Gods, he is so damn lucky.

They usually cook dinner together but, from the looks of the spread he's already got on the island, Hanzo isn't needed for that tonight. Not a problem. Instead of sticking around to watch his future husband do completely normal things that somehow manage to be unfairly hot (like the play of his thick muscles beneath a plaid shirt Hanzo has pointed out time and time again is far too tight for him, or the way he sways and rocks his hips to music only he seems to hear), he turns around and heads back to their bedroom, Tumbleweed and Yuki on his heels. 

Sliding out of his uncomfortable, starched work pants is a dream come true. Hanzo hums happily as he tosses the pants towards their laundry basket and moves to working on his tie and work shirt. The day had gone by rather quickly now that he thinks back on it. He hopes the rest of the week is like this. The faster they can get to the weekend, the better. Hanzo smirks, thinking of what they’ll get up to with all that free time as he pulls one of his husband’s well-worn plaid shirts out of their dresser. He eyes the pajama bottoms sitting neatly folded on the other side of the drawer as he slides his arms into the shirt. Rather than pull a pair out, though, he slides the drawer shut. 

Hanzo slides his fingers along the front of the shirt, buttoning it from the bottom up to just below the swell of his pectorals. The way McCree had looked at him this morning in the bathroom… he  _ knows _ they’ll be getting up to something later. He also knows how much Jesse loves seeing him in his clothing (which is just as much as Hanzo loves being in his clothes). Wrapped up in soft, well-worn fabric that smells like the love of his life is truly the greatest small comfort he can get. 

“Dinner’s ready!” He hears Jesse call down the hall.  _ Perfect, _ he thinks to himself, stepping away from the dresser and towards the door. 

Hanzo adjusts the flannel a bit, straightening it so it sits tighter around his chest, and walks towards the dining area with a sway to his hips. When he rounds the corner and sees Jesse sitting at their four-person dining room table, he pauses. Hanzo presses himself up against the hallway wall, leaning against it in a way he knows is tantalizing (not that he really has to try too hard– Jesse finds him incredibly erotic even in the morning when he’s bleary-eyed and messy-haired). It takes a moment for McCree to realize he’s in the room but, when he does, he flicks his eyes up for a moment, then back down, before he whips his head up in a double-take. 

“Oh darlin’,” Jesse breathes out, eyes raking up and down his form, “Yer makin’ me want to skip dinner and head straight to dessert.” 

“Down, cowboy,” Hanzo chastises with a smile even as he walks forward to slide into his spot at the table. Jesse is looking at him with veritable hearts in his eyes and the dopiest smile splitting his lips. Looking at him like that has Hanzo’s heart swelling in his chest. He reaches out a finger to tap against McCree’s nose, breaking the spell that his lover was under and bringing him back to the present. “Let’s eat dinner first,” he suggest with a lascivious smile that has Jesse’s eyes widening, “And  _ then _ we’ll talk about dessert.” 

McCree nods jerkily, then turns to his food with determination written on his face. Without further ado, he digs into his meal with vigor, as if finishing it quickly will get him closer to his ‘dessert’. He’s… such a dork. Hanzo loves him so much. Rather than work at his food as fast as McCree is, he takes his time, using his fork to cut off bits of lasagna and gingerly eating each bite. Even after Jesse finishes and is watching him with a pout on his lips, he takes his time, savoring every bite of his fiance’s cooking. 

“How was your day, Jesse?” He asks as he moves to start working on his salad, leaving half of his lasagna on his plate that he’ll go back to in a moment. Jesse huffs out a petulant sigh and flops back in his chair, which Hanzo chuckles at.  _ Patience _ .

“‘S all good, really. Did the same old routine as always. Worked on some cars, changed some oil, did some tires– nothing special,” he says with a shrug. His head lolls forward so he can look at Hanzo, although he remains slumped in his seat, loose and relaxed even as the dogs come up to sniff and lick at his hands. “Missed you the whole time, baby.” 

“Mm, I’m sure you did,” Hanzo hums in response, focused more on his salad than Jesse. That gets him a huff in return, even though he’s certain that Jess knows he’s only teasing him. Rather than respond to that, he stands up and goes to the tupperware cabinet (that Hanzo has spent many a day reorganizing because, for some unholy reason, it never remains put together for long). Hanzo watches him go with a smile. Jesse’s only going to put away the food early because he wants nothing between them after Hanzo finally finishes his food and he  _ knows  _ that. But it’s still funny to see his fiance go to such lengths– it’s part of the reason why he teases him like this.

Pulling out a few containers, McCree calls over his shoulder, “Are ya gonna have any more than what’s on your plate, Han?”  

Hanzo hums at that, looking down at his plate and bowl with a smile on his lips. The part of him that wants to keep teasing Jesse says yes but the other part of him, the more sensible part that recognizes his limits, know he won’t be able to eat more than what is in front of him. “No, I won’t,” he answers, picking up his bowl and bringing it closer to him so he can eat a bit faster. Despite teasing Jesse and starting this, he knows he won’t be able to keep it up for too long. There’s already a stirring in his midsection from Jesse just  _ looking  _ at him the way he does. 

McCree comes back to the table with a few containers and goes through the motions of putting their dinner away. He packs a lunch for Hanzo and one for himself, plus an extra for Genji (it  _ is _ Hanzo’s turn to bring him lunch tomorrow), then puts the rest away for leftover night. Hanzo eats his food the entire time, methodical and slow, watching Jesse with a smirk on his face. McCree still has that determined look on his face and is pointedly not looking at Hanzo, though the flush that’s on his cheeks makes it apparent that he  _ knows _ he’s got his eyes on him. 

As much as he likes this little game, Hanzo eats the rest of his food rather quickly. Jesse is a saint and he loves the man to death but he’s not going to let his fiance cook dinner, put away their leftovers,  _ and _ clean the dishes, which he’s likely planning on doing if the way he approaches the table again is any indication. 

“Ah ah,” Hanzo says, standing up quickly and turning to face McCree. He presses a hand to his lover’s chest, keeping him from getting to the table. Jesse pouts down at him, though his hands still move to rest on Hanzo’s hips in a habitual gesture. Hanzo walks his fingers up McCree’s chest to his throat and around until he buries his fingers in his flyaway brown locks. Scratching his fingers along his scalp, he continues, “ _ You _ cooked dinner,  _ I _ will do the dishes. Is that a fair compromise, cowboy?” 

“That’s fine,” McCree huffs back at him, clearly still impatient.  _ Adorable _ , Hanzo thinks to himself with a smile. He really is cute and fun to tease, to rile him up. As if his future husband can hear what he’s thinking, a smirk crosses his features, a smile that promises no good. Hanzo straightens up a bit at the sight of it. He’s seen plenty of a look like  _ that  _ in their years together.  

Jesse bends his head down to press a kiss to Hanzo’s forehead, then slides his lips along the side of his head and down to the shell of his ear. The breath that washes over the sensitive skin sends a chill up Hanzo’s spine.  _ Ah _ , the game can be tilted in Jesse’s favor so easily– there’s already a simmering heat starting in his midsection that can’t be stopped. The flames are only fanned with the absolutely filthy words Jesse whispers in his ear. By the time he stops and straightens back up again, everything inch of skin from Hanzo’s neck up is beet red, and he’s squirming a bit in place. 

“So, finish the dishes quick, okay?” Jesse tells him with a lascivious wink and a hand squeezing his hip. He leans down to peck his forehead once more before he steps away from him and heads towards their bedroom. The sway to his hips as he walks is full of promise, as is the way he already starts shedding his clothes. Jesse turns his head to wink at him as he pulls his undershirt up and off before he’s out of sight. He’s left there staring after his lover with a fire in his gut and electricity in his veins, the cause of which has left him standing there with mouth agape.

Hanzo’s never washed dishes  _ that _ quickly in his life. 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Sweaty and sated and tangled together on their bed, Hanzo drags his fingers through the thick hair on Jesse’s chest. His fiance takes a drag from the cigar in his mouth, holds the spicy, heady smoke for a moment, then lets it out in a gentle breath. Hanzo pushes himself up onto his elbows when Jesse turns the smoke in his direction. He takes it between his lips and sucks in slowly, savoring the smoke curling around his tongue, before he breathes it out into the air between them. One drag each after sex is all Hanzo allows. 

Jesse takes the cigar back and twists to snub it in the ashtray they keep on their nightstand. When he turns back to him, he brings the covers with him and takes care to drape not only those but his arms over Hanzo. He curls up against Jesse’s chest, humming happily at being wrapped up in warmth and his lover’s scent. McCree kisses him, runs his hand up and down his side, watches him with such warmth and love in his eyes that Hanzo feels like he must be dreaming. Everything about Jesse McCree and his relationship is absolutely perfect, from the way their lips and hands fit together to the way their personalities mesh. He’s so  _ lucky _ – they both are, really, to have found each other. If soulmates are real, Hanzo has found his in the man in front of him.

Hanzo snuggles as close to Jesse as he possibly can, content and warm. Like this, with their arms wrapped around each other, their chests rising and falling in tandem, Hanzo cannot think of any place that he’d rather be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse and Hanzo's normal every day life !! Ofc with Satya and Genji ;0c !!! I hope you like this chapter !!! Please let me know what you think and PLEASE check out the artist associated with this fic, https://yamiiino.tumblr.com/ !!! Come bother me on tumblr at cawaiiey and on twitter at cawaiiey_ !!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3 !! We're halfway there :3c !!! Check out yamiiino.tumblr.com for The Heart of Me art!!

Hanzo wakes up to his alarm this morning.

_ Fuck _ . It shouldn’t be legal to require people to wake up at 6:00 AM to get ready for work. He reaches out blindly, twisting towards the source of the sound with a groan. Turning in place proves to be more difficult than it should be, what with the weight on his chest. It takes a few tries but he manages to smack the top of their clock and snooze that heinous noise for five more minutes. Hanzo turns back and snuggles closer to his sleeping lover, sleep still clinging to his lashes and making them heavy. Giving in easily, he dozes for the next few minutes, breathing slow and heavy.

The next time the alarm goes off, he turns to shut it off completely and pushes himself up onto his elbows to actually start waking up. He turns to his lover to wake him up and stops dead at what he sees. Jesse’s got one arm around his waist and the other bent peculiarly under his head. There’s no way that won’t be asleep when he wakes up. His mouth is hanging open, a thin line of drool clear on his face, and his cheek is smushed from where he’s laying against his own arm. He looks like a dork. And a mess.

Hanzo is so in love with him. 

As much as he likes lingering in bed with Jesse, he’d rather not have a repeat of yesterday where they both barely made it to work on time. Sliding gingerly out of their bed, he pads across the plush carpet and into their en-suite bathroom. It’s nice to shower with his fiance– he usually prefers to do so, honestly– but there’s something equally as nice about having some alone time. 

By the time he steps out of their bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel and body mostly dry, Jesse is awake. He’s sat up, propped against their headboard, and blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Morning, sugarplum,” he says through a yawn, clearly having just woke up. Hanzo shakes his head at him, seated on their messy bed and looking seconds away from passing out again. He walks over to the bed and leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. When he pulls away, Jesse already looks more awake.

“Good morning, darling,” Hanzo says, walking past their bed to their dresser to pull a pair of underwear out. He steps into it one leg at a time, listening to the bed creak as Jesse finally gets up. He can hear the pop of his joints as he walks towards the bathroom, a sign of their old age. Not that either of them feel old around each other– almost forty feels like twenty when you’re with the love of your life.

“I’ll make breakfast this morning,” Hanzo calls over his shoulder, which gets him a drowsy ‘thank you’ in response. The bathroom door is shut behind him a moment later, leaving Hanzo to get ready at his own pace. He pulls out a white button down this time, another pair of black slacks, and an argyle sweater vest to wear instead of a tie. He’s changed within a few minutes and is heading out to the kitchen right after that. 

The routine is the same as usual. 

He lets the dogs outside to use the restroom, then fills up their dishes and makes sure they have fresh water before letting them in. They follow at his heels after they eat, waiting in vain for Hanzo to drop some food for them to steal. While Jesse is showering and getting dressed, he goes through the motions of making their breakfast. Toast with jam, some pan-seared sausage and bacon, and a cup of milk for McCree and orange juice for himself. By the time Jesse comes out of their room, hair wet and skin still damp from his shower, Hanzo has not only plated their breakfast but cleaned the dishes as well. 

They share a quick, closed-mouth kiss, mindful of the fact that neither of them have brushed their teeth yet, before they dig in. Jesse tells him between mouthfuls that he’s taking the motorcycle today and will meet him back here after work. Hanzo hums back in response. They finish breakfast and Jesse takes their plates to go wash them, letting Hanzo go back to their bathroom to brush his teeth and finish getting ready. McCree joins him a few minutes later. They stand there, Jesse brushing his teeth and Hanzo drying his hair while McCree occasionally bumps his hip. 

Hair up, teeth clean, ribbon tied around the base of his ponytail, and eyeliner sharp, Hanzo is ready to go in twenty minutes. Jesse lingers with him in the bathroom even though he’s ready to leave within five.

“Make sure not to forget yer and Genji’s lunch, honey,” he reminds Hanzo as they walk out of their bedroom towards the kitchen.. 

Hanzo opens his mouth to assure him he won’t when he remembers what Genji had asked him yesterday. “I almost forgot, Mother and Father want to have lunch with Genji and I today.” 

“Ah, gotcha. Sure yer mama’s gonna talk yer ear off about the wedding again, huh?” Jesse’s tone is nothing but smug. He thinks he’s getting out of that, doesn’t he? Hanzo sticks his tongue out at Jesse and reaches up to pinch his ear, which gets him a gasping laugh in response.

“ _ You’ll _ have to listen to that too tomorrow, future Mr. McCree- _ Shimada _ .” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Yes, tomorrow. We have dinner with my parents.” 

“O...Oh… is that so…?” Jesse’s voice is suspiciously quiet and he’s nervously looking away from Hanzo. He knows that look and that tone in his voice better than anything.

He forgot. 

Hanzo deadpans up at Jesse, tugging on his ear a bit to get him to bend down a few inches to his level. Jesse whines high in his throat, exaggerating whatever ‘pain’ he might be in. If he hadn’t reminded him, he would’ve got home last night to find Jesse lounging about, not ready to go, and would’ve been  _ much _ more angry. 

“It  _ is _ so, cowboy,” he hisses up at him, “It’s semi-formal. Wear a nice shirt and slacks. No plaid.”

Jesse nods, morose, and squirms where he’s standing. He opens his mouth once, twice, three times before he voices his question. “Can I–”

“ _ Yes _ , you can wear your bolo tie.” Hanzo interrupts, knowing the question before his fiance can even voice it. The quietly pleased look on his future husband’s face is… too cute. It’s making it hard to be mad at him.

“And what about–”

“If you keep asking questions, I won’t let you wear your hat.” 

“Wh– no! Hanzo! You can’t deny a cowboy his hat!”

Hanzo rolls his eyes and lets go of Jesse’s ear before briskly turning and starting towards the door. McCree sputters and gasps where he’s left standing in front of the fridge. He makes it to the door, puts his shoes on, and grabs his keys without once looking back at McCree. He’s not  _ actually _ mad at him. Just like last night, he likes to make McCree sweat a little. It seems he’s gone a bit too far when he glances over his shoulder and catches his fiance pouting at him.

“Darlin’?” Jesse mutters from where he’s standing in the doorway between their kitchen and the living room, “Yer jus’ gonna leave without giving lil ol’ me a goodbye kiss?” 

Damn him. The small amount of irritation he’d had melts away in an instant. He stops himself from opening the door and turns to Jesse. Silently, he beckons him over with one hand. Hanzo swears he sometimes has five dogs in the house with the puppy-like behavior McCree has, especially when he’s being given something he wants. His fiance bounds over to him and bends down to press their lips together, which Hanzo pushes himself up into. 

He smells like aftershave and mint and something entirely  _ Jesse _ . His rough, calloused hands cup his face, thumbs tracing the high arch of his cheekbones, as they savor the taste and warmth of one another for long minutes. He tastes like home.

When Hanzo pulls away, it’s with hearts in his eyes and a smile on his lips. 

“Have a good day at work, baby.” 

“You as well, my love.”

They squeeze their hands and exchange one last smooch before Hanzo is walking out the door and heading to his car with a skip in his step. He’s already looking forward to coming home. 

 ––––––––––––––––––––––– 

“–and he said he works at a soup kitchen every Sunday! How altruistic can he be?!” 

“Mmhm,” Hanzo hums back, not at all focused on his brother and his love life. The ledger on this report isn’t matching up and he’s been working on it for thirty minutes straight now. His head is pounding, an ache settling behind his eyes as he stares at the numbers on the page in front of him. His brain is fried but he can’t move on to something else– this is the last report he needs to finish before he’s caught up for the end of the month. It’s only a half hour before they leave the office for lunch and he’d like to finish it before then. Genji yakking in his ear really isn’t helping–  _ why won’t these fucking numbers match up?! _

His head– 

It  _ throbs _ . 

_ Ba-bump _ . 

Each heartbeat has the pain mounting in intensity. He squeezes his eyes against it.

_ Ba-bump _ . 

Hanzo reaches up and clutches at his head with desperate hands,  _ praying _ for this to just go away.

_ Ba- _ **_bump_ ** **.**

“Anija.”

Hanzo’s eyes snap open.

Genji’s voice doesn’t sound right. 

It’s… like they’re boys again, talking to each other through tin cans and a string from one side of the yard to the other. Metallic, somewhat hollow. 

It sends a chill up his spine. 

“Anija, can you hear me?” 

His tone is urgent, desperate. Quiet. Feels like it’s whispered right in his ear. 

Hanzo whips his head around to look at his brother. 

There, hanging over the side of his cubicle, is Genji. He looks normal, if a little confused at his expression. So why is his heart beating so fast? Why are his palms sweating? Why does he feel cold all over? 

His head  _ hurts _ .

He blinks. 

And his brother is no longer himself. 

Instead of a smooth face, Hanzo stares in abject horror at the scars covering his brother’s visage. They cross over one another, deep furrows in skin that, just a second ago, was flawless. Hanzo can’t– he can’t look away. Genji’s jaw– the lower half of it is encased in metal. Or it  _ is _ metal? 

Titanium is set into his skin from the sharp curve of his jaw up the side of his face. Just above his forehead is a metal plate, behind which is a familiar head of flyaway black hair, run through with streaks of silver. It’s the  _ only _ familiar thing about him. Other than that, it’s like looking at a stranger. A stranger that he somehow  _ knows _ .

Hanzo can’t catch his breath. Every inhale is quick and shallow and it  _ hurts _ , like his lungs have been pierced by a dozen needles and he’s  _ trying _ but he can’t– he can’t– he can’t look away. 

His eyes are the most startling part. The irises are a brilliant lime green. The whites are tinged red and glassy.

As if he’s been crying. 

A part of him knows, somehow, that _he’s_ the reason his brother looks like that. Not just the tears– _everything_ _is his fault_. 

“Hanzo?” Genji says in that metallic timbre of his. Unfamiliar– but not at the same time. Genji reaches for him with a hand as synthetic as his jaw. 

Something in him snaps.

Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it.  _ 1…2…3…4…  _ This isn’t real– it’s just a headache-induced hallucination is all. Maybe he accidentally fell asleep at his desk and this is a nightmare. It’s not real– it can’t be real. Slowly, he lets his held breath out through his mouth.  _  1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…  _

He opens his eyes.

Everything is back to normal.

His headache is gone.

“Anija!” Genji shouts, waving his  _ flesh _ hand in front of Hanzo’s face with an irritated furrow between his thick brows. His voice is normal, as is his face. Unblemished with only the slightest wrinkles bracketing his lips and eyes– which are back to the rich brown they usually are– plus the streaks of silver in his hair being the only indication that he’s thirty-five. Hanzo searches his face, unblinking, for any scars and his eyes for any tears. Thankfully, he sees neither. There’s nothing there that even  _ hints _ at what Hanzo just saw.

Even knowing that, his hands still shake. There’s a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. There’s a sense of something being  _ wrong  _ that he can’t ignore. He’s… rattled, to say the least. 

“Hanzo, are you alright?” Genji’s staring at him with worry written plainly in the furrow between his brows and the frown on his lips. That’s his brother, his 35-year old brother, who he grew up with in Hanamura before they moved to the states at the ripe ages of thirteen and sixteen because of a business venture their father was involved in. He’s never once had scars on his face, despite how they used to roughhouse, and certainly he’s never been injured enough for the bottom half of his jaw to be replaced with metal. The only time he’s ever had green eyes is when he was going through a cyberpunk phase when he was fifteen. 

A hallucination. That’s all it was. That’s all it could possibly be. 

“Hanzo?” Genji presses, dropping down from where he’s hanging over the side of his cubicle and briskly walking around to the entrance. There’s concern in his tone. He reaches out a  _ human _ hand and rests it on his tense shoulder, which he visibly sags in relief at. “Are you okay, anija?” He asks again, squeezing the flesh under his hand in a soothing manner. The stress, the fear, the anxiety– it all bleeds out of him as if he were stuck.

Right. He needs to respond. He has to tell him he’s alright. He is alright. It was just a hallucination. Just a trick of the mind. Nothing to be worried about. 

“Y-Yes,” he manages, voice shaking a bit, just like his hands are. He squeezes them shut, into fists, to steady them as he forges on. “I am fine. Just… A headache. This report,” he manages to reach for it and pick it up with minimal tremors rocking his body, “It… is not matching up with our numbers and it is practically making me lose my mind.” 

Genji’s narrowed eyes bore into him, searching his face for the lie that he  _ must _ know is there. Hanzo blinks up at him, hoping that he won’t press for what’s really wrong. How is he supposed to explain what he just saw?  _ Actually, Genji, I saw your face covered in scars and your eyes were a neon green and you looked like you were crying. Oh, also, you were a cyborg. Crazy, right? _ He’d rather lie about it than admit to what actually happened. 

It takes a few long moments but Genji eventually stops looking him over. He still looks like he doesn’t quite believe him but, thankfully, he does drop it “Okay, anija,” he says, reaching for the report in Hanzo’s hands and taking it from his shaky grip, “How about  _ I  _ balance this and you go take some Ibuprofen, splash some cold water on your face, maybe get a glass of water? Lunch is in,” he pauses to glance at the digital clock on Hanzo’s desk, right next to a picture of himself and McCree kissing in front of the Disneyland castle for their 3rd anniversary, “Half an hour. And if you still look like  _ that _ , Mother is going to ask questions.” 

Hanzo doesn’t need any more convincing. He stands and lets Genji take his seat and hurries out of the cubicle to wash away the image of Genji’s scarred, metallic visage from where it’s burned on the inside of his eyelids. 

Just a hallucination. That’s all. A trick of the mind. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Hanzo hopes if he keeps telling himself that, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach will go away. 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

They show up to the restaurant to meet their parents at half past noon. 

Hanzo can’t help but steal glances at Genji every now and then to reaffirm that he looks the same. Genji catches him once or twice on the drive there but, thankfully, doesn’t ask him about it. He’s not sure  _ why _ exactly he had seen Genji looking like a character from a comic book or a video game but he’s not going to question it. A headache-induced hallucination is the best explanation he can come up for it. Hopefully he won’t even remember it by tomorrow morning. 

They round the corner of a building and catch sight of their mother and father– Azumi and Sojiro– standing in front of the restaurant they’ll be eating lunch at today. Even approaching their 70s as they are, they exude such a regal aura. It comes with being the founder and owner of a large company, as his father is, and with growing up in a very traditional household, as his mother had. His mother has her long hair, streaked with more silver than black nowadays, piled up into a tight bun on the top of her head. Her aquiline nose and piercing eyes are focused on his father, whose hair is tied into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck.  _ His _ hair is much more white than hers, only the occasional streak of black run through it. Father must have been at the office today, dressed in a form-fitting suit as he is. Hanzo glances at their mother and smiles at her comfortable clothes, a long, flowing skirt covering her legs and a short-sleeved blouse on her top. She still looks striking in that outfit

“ _ Mom, dad _ ,” Genji calls out to them in Japanese while waving his arms above his head like a child. Hanzo’s face heats up in embarrassment, the people on the street and the others in front of the restaurant all whipping their heads around to stare at the two of them. Their parents follow the gazes of those around them to Hanzo and Genji, one of which has his head ducked and the other is skipping towards them, through the small crowd of people. 

Hanzo watches Genji embrace their mother and father with an arm around each of them, both of the smiles on their faces genuine and warm. Azumi pushes herself up onto her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on Genji’s cheek and Sojiro ruffles his hair affectionately. Even from here, still making his way to the trio, he can tell Genji is beaming at the attention. He’s always thrived off of it. Hanzo has always tended to shy away from it, except for when they were in their high school days. He’d found a passion for theatre and been the lead in as many plays as he could manage while staying on top of his studies. Nowadays, he’s a bit more mellow, and the only person whose attention he truly  _ needs _ is the one who he’ll be marrying and spending the rest of his life with. 

“Hanzo,” Sojiro says with a hand on his shoulder. He looks up from where he’d been watching his feet, fingers toying with the engagement ring on his finger, lost in thought, to meet his father’s warm brown eyes. Before he knows it, he’s being squeezed against his father’s side, and his mother is gracefully walking over to cup one side of his face and press her cold lips to the other side. Hanzo grumbles, face already warm from the unwanted attention of strangers, but now he’s being subjected to  _ this _ . 

“ _ How is my son? _ ” Sojiro asks, stepping away from his side to look him up and down. His mother fusses over his shirt, straightening his collar and smoothing down his sweater vest. Hanzo endures it, knowing there’s no way he can get out of this. Besides, he has to let them fuss over him sometimes. 

“ _I am alright_ ,” he says in response as he moves to give his mother a hug to get her to stop plucking at his clothes. There’s no point in mentioning his nightmare from a few days ago, nor today’s odd… sight. The last thing he wants to do is worry his parents more than they already do. “ _And you, father?_ ” 

“ _ The same old, _ ” his father answers with a shrug. He reaches for Azumi when she goes to try and fuss with him again– something that likely would’ve resulted in Hanzo snapping her her– and pulls her by the hand to his side. “ _ There was an important meeting today. When do you plan to leave Overwatch and join our company, Hanzo? _ ” 

Hanzo rolls his eyes at the question. Every time they meet up with each other, his father asks the same thing. And every time the answer is the same. 

“ _ After the wedding and our honeymoon _ .” 

Azumi perks up at the mention of her  _ favorite _ topic nowadays. Before she can pipe up and pester him with the  _ same  _ questions she asks  _ every  _ time, Sojiro ushers them inside, which Hanzo is grateful for. He’s not sure he’s mentally prepared enough just yet to be bombarded with questions his mother already knows the answer to. 

The modern lunch restaurant is a favorite amongst the businessmen in the vicinity. Hanzo knows his father is on a VIP list, though, and that getting a table here is no problem, even during their lunch rush. They walk through the modern white-marble tables towards their own, soft light filtering from the glass ceiling above them. Faux bamboo stretches towards the ceiling in pillars spread amongst the restaurant and fresh flowers hang from the ceiling in translucent baskets. Hanzo appreciates the atmosphere here, it’s incredibly calming. Which will be needed when they sit down, he already knows. 

Hanzo slides into the comfortable padded chair across from his mother and to the left of his father while Genji plops down in the one to his right. The hostess is replaced by their server in an instant, who politely asks what they’d like to drink today. Hanzo thanks the stars that Genji drove them today and, knowing that their father is paying, orders a whiskey, neat. Genji gets a virgin Shirley Temple (because of course he does– if he can’t drink, he’ll order something silly), his father orders the same as himself, and their mother orders a dry martini. 

The Shimadas are masters of day drinking. And, if the sharp look in his mother’s eyes is anything to go by, Hanzo knows he will absolutely need the liquor. 

Genji claps a hand on Hanzo’s back in a silent ‘good luck’ as the server walks off with their orders and their mother launches into her questioning without warning. 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

_ “No _ , we haven’t decided on a venue.” 

_ “Yes _ , you can invite the family, as long as you leave room for Jesse’s.” 

_ “No _ , you cannot take over wedding planning.” 

_ “No _ , we won’t be wearing traditional clothing, because I don’t want to be in a stuffy kimono for the ceremony, and neither does Jesse. Tuxedos are more modern.” 

“ _ Yes _ , you can give a speech. Please don’t make it longer than 10 minutes, though.”

“ _ No _ , we haven’t decided on a date.” 

Hanzo groans up at the ceiling of Genji’s car. They’re on the way back to work from lunch now and, just like every time they end up with their parents recently, Hanzo had been the center of attention. Mother had assaulted him with question after question about the wedding, all of which have had the same answer for the past two months, ever since Jesse and him had first announced their engagement. He wonders how many times he’s going to have to answer those questions before his mother will finally stop. Likely up until the day of his wedding at this point. 

Genji pats him on the shoulder in a consoling manner. He’d not gotten a word in with Mother at all during lunch. Sojiro and Genji had talked quietly amongst themselves all while Hanzo nursed a tumbler or three of good whiskey to keep himself from pulling his hair out while Azumi grilled him with ridiculous inquiries. He knows Genji is a bit upset about not being able to talk to mother, especially considering the recent developments in his romantic life. Hanzo would’ve much rather spent the whole lunch listening to Genji gush about his musician boyfriend(?) than be subjected to the same round of incessant questioning. 

“She makes me want to elope, Genji. Just take Jesse with me, run off to Vegas, and get married.” Hanzo presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. He takes care not to scrub, mindful of his eyeliner, but just to press them there to try and get his mother’s voice out of his head. The Vegas idea is sounding better by the minute. 

“Hah, Anija… You can elope to Vegas if you bring me with so I can still be your best man, okay?” Genji says playfully. Hanzo nods in agreeance. That’s a good compromise. He’d just have to get McCree on board. Surely his adopted mother Ana has been asking him similar questions. And, well, if he isn’t… then that lucky bastard is going to be the one to field his mother’s questions tomorrow. Hanzo will  _ not _ be the one subjected to it two days in a row. 

The air in the car is tense. It reminds Hanzo of what happened earlier. He’d been able to suppress the memory during lunch but now that there’s nothing to distract him as it rushes to the forefront of his thoughts. The sight… is still unsettling. Scars sliced across his face in deep furrows. Eyes unnaturally green, neon or perhaps acidic. Hanzo swears he remembers a tear leaving a track on his face as it traveled along the marred skin to the sharp curve of his metal jaw. 

Why was he crying? Why did he see that?  _ Why  _ can’t he stop thinking about it? 

There’s only one explanation for it. A hallucination. That’s all it could be. But, for some reason, Hanzo knows that’s not true. Deep down, there’s a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that something is  _ very wrong _ . His palms are sweating, stomach churning, and he’s cold all over. Which is absurd, nothing’s wrong, he’s just overthinking things. He’s freaking himself out. 

Everything will be alright when he gets home to Jesse, he just knows it. He’ll explain what happened and Jesse will assuage his fears and worries with that sweet voice of his and he’ll feel less anxious about this entire situation. He just needs to get through the last few hours of the work day that they have left and then he’ll be home, wrapped up in his lover’s arms where he’s meant to be. McCree will stroke his hair, will kiss him like he always does, make him forget about all the bad things.

And everything will be alright. It has to be. 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

By the time Hanzo walks through the door of their home, he’s exhausted. The dogs rush to greet him but, thankfully, they don’t jump up on him, seemingly able to sense how tired he is. He tosses his keys into the bowl next to the door and toes off his shoes before shuffling across the hardwood in his socks to their couch. Yeah, maybe the bed would be better, but the couch is closer. So he flops over onto it, smushing his face into the plush cushions and relaxing against the soft fabric. Yuki stops to lick at his hand, which is hanging over the side, but, other than that, he’s left to melt into the cushions. 

It’s only a few minutes of him laying there before he feels familiar fingers thread through his hair, gentle and soothing. 

“Jesse,” he breathes out, turning his head so his cheek is pressed against the cushion instead of his entire face,. His future husband runs a smooth thumb along his cheekbone, which he nuzzles into as best as he can. “Your hand is so cold, Jesse,” he mumbles, reaching up with his own hand to place it over McCree’s. Jesse hums in response. It sounds tired, tense.  _ Must have had a rough day at work _ . 

“C’mon now, Hanzo,” Jesse says, voice suddenly far closer than he expected it to be. His tone is melancholic. The hand on his face shakes a bit. It’s… disconcerting, to the say the least. Hanzo wants to open his eyes, wants to assure Jesse he’s alright, when his future husband sucks in a shaky breath and squeezes the side of his face as best as he can. “Gotta wake up, darlin’. Can’t be sleepin’ forever, y’hear?”

Hanzo nods, feeling his head throb with slight pain. The furrow between his brows is deep, an ache settling just underneath the skin of his forehead. Jesse’s so odd. He’s only just laid down, hasn’t he? If he’d fallen asleep, it couldn’t have been for more than a few minutes. Or perhaps he’d been napping for a while now and Jesse has just let him be. It  _ has _ been a long day... His limbs  _ do _ feel heavy, now that he thinks about it, as are his eyelids. From the knee down, he can only feel pins and needles. 

How long  _ has _ he been sleeping? 

No worries, really. Jesse is here and that’s all that matters. Having his hand on his cheek is steadily waking him up. With every pass over his cheekbone, he can feel himself slowly starting to buzz with energy once more. Feeling returns to his legs when he shifts against the couch. One of their dogs sniffs at a sock-covered foot of his, tickling his skin through the fabric and causing him to squirm against the couch with barely restrained giggles hiding in the back of his throat. All the while, Jesse strokes his face with his calloused thumb.

Hanzo tilts his head in Jesse’s hand to nuzzle into his warm, rough palm. The contact feels like home, feels so  _ right _ . Humming sweetly, he drags his sleepy lips along the heel of his hand, listening in quiet delight to the gentle way McCree chuckles at his behavior, the tickle of his beard against his skin. His laugh washes over him, settles on his flesh and sinks into his tired bones. Hanzo feels content warmth settle in the pit of his stomach as he drags his hand up Jesse’s hairy, muscular forearm until he reaches his flannel-covered bicep to give it a squeeze. It’s only when he feels McCree tap on his nose with his other hand that he finally opens his eyes. 

“There’s those pretty brown eyes,” Jesse coos softly while Hanzo blinks the sleep clinging to his lashes away as best he can. The room is dim, a lamp on in the corner the only source of light in the room. The sun has gone down while he was napping for who-knows-how-long. He can see Yuki and Soba curled up on the dog bed next to the television with Tumbleweed buried in the warm space between them. 

Hanzo tilts his head up to lock eyes with his lover, who is looking down at him with eyes crinkled at the edges and warm, lips drawn up in a sweet smile. Delighting in the warmth that surges through him at the sight, he returns the expression. With a helping hand, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. All of his movements are lethargic and slow. Jesse is patient with him, though, letting him take his time stretching and cracking his neck before he sinks into the space next to him and slides an arm around his shoulder. 

“Good evenin’, future Mr. Shimada-McCree,” Jesse says as he leans in to gently press his lips to the cheek Hanzo had pressed into the couch. He’s sure a pattern is imprinted on the skin from the pressure and the long time he’d slept and only hopes it doesn’t make him look foolish. “Seems ya decided to take a lil’ nap when you got home. Are you feelin’ alright, Han?” 

Hanzo snuggles as close to McCree as he possibly can, absorbing his body heat like a greedy sponge. Today was far too long. From the reports to lunch with his parents, and especially the interrogation he went through with his mother, the events have just been adding weights onto him all day. It’s no surprise he fell asleep the minute he was no longer vertical, even if he hadn’t been expecting it. 

“Long day,” is all he says, curling into Jesse and savoring the gentle way he strokes his arm with steady fingers. He sighs into his neck and burrows closer to press a kiss to his warm, sun-kissed skin. Not one to break tradition, he sleepily mumbles against his skin, “I’m home, future Mr. McCree-Shimada.” 

Jesse laughs softly at him and gives his arm a gentle squeeze. Already, the events that have been dragging him down all day begin to melt away. Jesse’s so good at that, assuaging his fears and worries until he’s just genuinely  _ happy _ . So lucky, he’s so damn lucky. Jesse is too good for him, too good  _ to _ him. It’s evident in the way he kisses at his forehead and his aquiline nose, in how he tilts Hanzo’s face up to capture his lips in an easy, sweet kiss that has him melting back into the couch cushions. It’s evident in everything he does, everything he says. This is his  _ soulmate _ , Hanzo knows this for a fact. He’s never felt so whole before. 

“Is future Mr. Shimada-McCree hungry?” Jesse whispers into the scant space between them as he pulls back far enough for them to breathe but not far enough to leave his space. 

Hanzo’s stomach answers that question before he can say anything. As if awakened by the mention of food, it growls loudly, loud enough that Hanzo can see Bella jerk with a start from where she’s laid on the couch beside McCree. They can’t help the way they devolve into giggles, breathing each other’s laughter in until they’re giddy and grinning and Hanzo feels high off his future husband’s presence. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jesse says with a hand tickling his side, “C’mon, sugar. Finished dinner while you were sleepin’. Let’s eat.” 

––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Hanzo’s practically asleep, head cushioned on Jesse’s hairy chest, when he remembers what happened earlier that day. With Genji. 

It’s still unsettling to think about and only stopped bothering him when McCree had taken up all of his attention. But now, the two of them quiet and well on their way to snoozing, Hanzo’s mind naturally drifts back to the hallucination. It still scares him, still causes a lump to form in his throat just remembering it, still makes him think that something is undeniably  _ wrong _ . That’s an absurd thought process and he knows it, deep down.

“Somethin’ wrong, Han? Can hear ya thinkin’,” Jesse mumbles sleepily into the top of his head. Fuck, he must’ve tensed up. McCree can sense even the smallest changes in him, seeing as they’ve been together for so long.  Years of learning one another’s mannerisms makes it easy for either of them to tell when something is wrong with the other. 

Hanzo heaves a sigh. There’s no point in telling Jess not to worry, that would just worry him  _ more _ . And, the moonlight filtering through the blinds as his witness, he refuses to lie to the love of his life. Drawing shapes in the tawny skin of McCree’s chest, he speaks softly, rustling the thick hair he’s laid on with every breath.

“Had a frightening experience earlier,” he explains, “I was looking at Genji and I blinked and he… He did not look like himself.”

“What did he look like then?” McCree asks. His tone is peculiarly tight. Hanzo can hear it plain as day. Odd. He must be worried. 

“Genji had scars all over his face. A metal jaw. Metal all around his face, now that I think about it. And the strangest green eyes, like…  _ acid _ .” Hanzo ticks each descriptor off with his fingers tapping on Jesse’s chest. And, with every word, he can hear Jesse’s heartbeat start to race under his ear, his muscles tensing and fingers suddenly halting in the gentle patterns they were drawing on his tattooed bicep. Odd.  _ Very _ odd. 

“I had had a pretty severe headache right before that, actually,” Hanzo continues, explaining in hopes that Jesse will respond, “I figured it was something that had to do with that. Stress from work, that’s all.”

It takes a few moments of silence between the two of them, seconds that seem to stretch on into minutes, in which the only sound in their dark room is their dual breathing, before Jesse relaxes underneath him. His fingers start dancing along his inked skin once more. And Hanzo, though he was tense in response to his lover’s lack of one, feels himself melt against McCree once more. 

“That’s all it was then,” Jesse soothes, sliding his hand up until he can thread his digits through Hanzo’s hair, “Jus’ some creepy lil’ illusion. A trick of the mind, cuz yer work works ya to the damn bone at the end of the month.” 

Hanzo barks out a laugh. That’s true, Overwatch is merciless at this time of the month, and he was rather stressed with the reports and knowing he’d be going to lunch shortly after finishing up. He’s glad that Jesse agrees that it’s only a hallucination of some sort. Knowing his future husband doesn’t think of him as crazy for something like this is soothing, to say the least. Hanzo hums in agreeance with McCree and snuggles closer to him, his arm wrapping tighter around his soft middle and pulling him closer. 

Despite all that, there’s still an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that something is terribly wrong. 

It’ll be gone in the morning. Hopefully.

Snuggling up to Jesse like he is, wrapped up in his arms and his warmth and the smokey-sweet smell of him, makes it easy to forget and even easier to slip into the loving embrace of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dinner with the parents :3c !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Jesse!” Hanzo calls out as he rushes through the door of their house. The dogs barrel around the corner from where they were in the kitchen as he struggles to toe his shoes off. Work practically flew by today. Everyone was focused on their own individual reports, as the last day of the month is tomorrow. Hanzo managed to finish everything except for five statements that he’ll need to balance tomorrow but it’s nothing he can’t handle in an eight hour work day. 

Swimming through the sea of barking dogs all fighting for his attention, he races to the kitchen and slides across the tile on his socks (it’s just something he can’t resist at this point, it’s Jesse’s fault) before scrambling to the master bedroom. They’re going to be late if Jesse isn’t ready  _ right now _ . Traffic was backed up on the freeway on his way back home and he’s not about to make his parents wait for the two of them. He swears to any deity that’s listening that he  _ will _ kill Jesse if he’s sleeping. They have  _ no time _ . 

He twists the doorknob and shoves open the door with a vicious purpose, already speaking before he can even see if Jesse is ready or not. There’s no way he didn’t hear Hanzo come in or the barking of their  _ four dogs _ signalling his arrival. 

“Jesse McCree, I swear–”

His words die in his throat. 

Jesse looks up from where he’s buttoning up a freshly ironed button down, surprise evident on his features. On his  _ clean _ features. He’d trimmed up his beard, managing it into less of a rough-and-tumble mess on his face and more into a fresh, clean look. His eyebrows were even groomed, the stray hairs that sometimes drive Hanzo mad neatly trimmed or plucked until his brows were shaped into a gorgeous arch above his wide amber eyes. Perhaps the best part is the fact that he’d slicked his hair back with some of the hair gel he rarely uses, making him look even more put together. Like this, the gold hoops pierced in each of his ears are plainly visible.

Hanzo’s knees feel weak. 

“You swear what?” Jesse asks in that perfect voice of his, fingers deftly buttoning his shirt up to the top collar. Hanzo gapes at him. What was he going to swear? Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem all that important anymore. Not when Jesse is flipping his collar up to slide the corded bolo tie around his neck. Not when Jesse is grabbing at the suit jacket that matches the grey slacks on his long legs and slipping it on a moment later. The fitted cut of it accentuates every inch of his torso in such a delectable way that Hanzo momentarily weighs the consequences of cancelling dinner on his parents against what he could have access to for the rest of the  _ night _ right in front of him.

It’s difficult to fight that desire when Jesse saunters over to him and reaches for him with his left hand, using his thumb on his chin and his fingers underneath that to gently close his mouth, which he hadn’t realized was hanging open. It proves even  _ more _ difficult when Hanzo feels Jesse’s cold, smooth thumb swipe over his bottom lip before Jesse is bending down to press their lips together soundly. 

The kiss is far deeper than a welcome home kiss ought to be but Hanzo isn’t complaining in the slightest. In fact, he finds himself kissing back eagerly, mouth opening to let in Jesse’s probing tongue without a moment’s hesitation. It’s only when his head starts to spin from lack of air that Jesse finally pulls away, leaving Hanzo panting for breath with lips spit-slick and already reddening. 

“Ready to go to dinner, future Mr. Shimada-McCree?” Jesse teases, thumbing at his lower lip with that calloused digit of his. The bastard has the audacity to smirk at him. He  _ knows _ what he’s doing and Hanzo is helpless to it, helpless to him. Not that he’s actually complaining about it. It just isn’t fair that they have to go to dinner when Jesse is looking like  _ that _ and their bed is right  _ there _ . 

“What about your hat?” Hanzo asks, dragging his fingers down the breadth of Jesse’s chest with a fluttering sigh escaping his lips. Unfair, truly.

“Want me to wear my hat when I did my hair all pretty jus’ for you?” Jesse purrs as he twists Hanzo’s head and leans down to lip at his sensitive neck. Hanzo tilts, exposing more of his skin for Jesse to kiss lazily at.  _ Unfair _ . Even more so when Jesse bites the lobe of his ear and tugs on it, laving his tongue along the shell in a way that he knows will make Hanzo squirm under him. “Thought ya liked it when I pushed my hair back, baby. Doesn’t it just rile ya up?” 

“You are a cruel man, Jesse McCree,” Hanzo hisses, pressing his hands against Jesse’s chest and, with more willpower than he thought he was capable of, pushes him back so he can  _ think _ . His head is spinning and it’s getting more and more tempting to skip out on their dinner. 

The dinner. 

“Fuck, Jesse McCree, you devil!” Hanzo shrieks, smacking Jesse’s chest and causing the man to double over with an exaggerated noise of pain. The time! They’re going to be late! His mother will  _ not _ let him live it down if they show up late. And if he’d let Jesse keep nosing and lipping at his neck like he had been doing, they would’ve known  _ exactly why _ the two of them were late. Hanzo would rather die than see the sly looks his parents get when they see evidence of his and Jesse’s passion. There is absolutely no reason to discuss the specifics of his sex life with his mother and father. None. 

Hanzo grabs at Jesse’s hand, ignoring his raucous laughter, and yanks him through the door of their bedroom into the hall. They’re not about to be late and Jesse McCree and his stupidly sexy smile and his kisses and his  _ hair _ will not keep them any longer, he’s making sure of it. 

  –––––––––––––––––––––––

Hanzo stares up at the expensive French restaurant his parents has insisted on for dinner. They get together for a dinner like this once every two weeks and, every single time, without fail, his parents reserve a table at an expensive restaurant that Jesse and himself wouldn’t be able to afford had his Father not taken care of the bill every time. The perks to being a CEO of your own company, of course. Hanzo and Jesse’s current salary combined wouldn’t be able to cover fancy dinners like this so frequently and leave them with enough money left over to save up for their own wedding. 

“How’s your French, sugarplum?” Jesse teases as he uses the grip he has on Hanzo’s hand to guide him towards the door. A man dressed in a fitted tuxedo with a thick white napkin folded over his arm opens the door for them with a greeting in French. Hanzo’s thankful for Jesse and how his lover responds in smooth French right back at the waiter. By the look on his face, he’s mildly impressed with his language skills coming from a man wearing cowboy boots and a bolo tie. People always underestimate Jesse McCree. 

“Worse than yours, I assume,” he mutters back, which gets him a chuckle and a squeeze of his hand in response. Those language lessons he’d gone through in his youth never did prove too useful. Jesse is the one that has a knack for linguistics– Hanzo will leave his multilingual lover to the talking with those that don’t speak Japanese or English. He’s good at it. 

Hanzo mentions his name to the maître d'hôtel and they’re promptly escorted away. They catch sight of his parents seated at a table-cloth covered round table, upon the center of which is a lit candle gently flickering in the artificial breeze created by the air conditioning. His mother is wearing a royal blue dress with a filigree pattern of gold along the collar, a long slit up the side of it to about mid-thigh, and long sleeves made of blue tulle that end in a tight cuff at her wrist. Her hair is plaited and hanging over one shoulder, making her seem all the more youthful. To her left, Sojiro is sitting in a suit the same color as her dress, his tie a scalloped gold piece around his neck. They look as put-together and regal as ever– a Shimada signature. 

The maître d'hôtel shows them to their table and leaves to return to her duties. Hanzo’s mother stands the second they get there, already reaching for him to give him a hug and to kiss his cheek. Hanzo endures her cold, frail hands and her freezing, chapped lips on his cheek. The restaurant  _ is  _ quite cold, and her dress rather thin. If it gets to be too much for her, Hanzo is sure his mother will ask Sojiro for his jacket. 

His father stands to give him a quick hug and to give Jesse a handshake after his fiance is done kissing his mother’s cheek and giving her a hug. The smile on her face and the sparkle in her eyes at Jesse’s chivalry is ever present whenever he’s around. Hanzo remembers beaming when his mother had said, “Well, he’s quite the gentleman,” with a small smile after he’d introduced Jesse to her for the first time. Hanzo may as well have gotten her blessing that very day– no other person he’s brought home has gotten a reaction like that. 

“Mr. Shimada,” Jesse says good-naturedly while shaking his father’s hand, “How have you been?” 

“Rather well, Jesse, thank you. And I have told you to call me Sojiro. My future son-in-law has no reason to use such formalities,” Sojiro responds with a smile. Hanzo knows that he’s secretly pleased by Jesse’s polite speech. It shows respect and that is something his father values above all else. Plus it makes him feel important outside of the workplace. Hanzo only knows that bit because his father’s tongue gets rather loose when he’s on a sake binge. 

“Aw, you know me,” Jesse says while scratching at the back of his neck with a bashful smile on his lips, “Can’t help it. It’s the Southern gentleman in me.” 

Hanzo snorts at that. “Please, you are from Santa Fe, Jesse. That’s not the American south and we  _ all _ know that.” McCree sticks his tongue out at him in lieu of a response but still goes to pull out Hanzo’s chair for him. Perhaps not Southern but McCree is a gentleman. Hanzo knows if he and Jesse weren’t together and his mother was thirty years younger (and also not happily married), she’d be all over him. He can tell by the look she gets whenever Jesse does… well, anything. She always looks like she’s about to melt just by being around him.

McCree has that effect on more than just one Shimada. 

Hanzo sinks down into the plush seat and lets Jesse push him in before his lover seats himself to his right, between himself and his mother. The waitress is at their table just a moment later to take their drink orders– McCree orders a whiskey and Hanzo, with a glance at his mother’s half-full glass, orders himself a red wine. He silently promises himself he’ll only have one glass tonight. Doesn’t want a repeat of the last month’s dinner, where he’d polished off a whole bottle himself and had spent the whole ride back home whispering the most…  _ naughty _ things in Jesse’s ear. As fun as that evening ended, he’d rather stay mostly sober tonight.

“So,” Hanzo hears his mother say in that inquisitive tone of hers that instantly has his hair standing on end, “Jesse. Have you two decided on a venue?” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Hanzo gives up on only drinking one glass after his mother’s twentieth question. 

Jesse has managed to placate her with more detailed answers than he’d given her the day prior, though she still pulls question after question out as if she’s a reporter and their eventual marriage is the top story of the month. Hanzo wants to tear his hair out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Jesse’s hand is resting on his thigh and he’s rubbing soothing circles into the skin. The man has no idea how much a simple touch can calm him down.

When the waitress comes back to take their order, Hanzo is secretly pleased, if only for the sole reason of getting his mother to stop interrogating them, even if it’s just for an instant. Jesse goes first, ordering a  _ filet mignon _ that will likely be a small medallion of a steak as opposed to what Jesse is normally used to. Hanzo orders seared salmon that comes with a cream sauce with lemon and capers. His father copies McCree’s order, though his French is leagues ahead of Jesse’s. Hanzo flicks his eyes over to his mother as she goes to order.And freezes at the sight of her.

She… doesn’t look quite right. 

There’s a hollowness to her face that Hanzo swears he didn’t see yesterday. She raises her hand and gestures with fingers that are much too pale, much too thin. Practically bone. The pallor of her skin worries him, as well as the way her eyes look. Red around the rims, tired and half-lidded. They were  _ just _ youthful and full of brightness when she looked at Jesse and him but now… 

If Hanzo didn’t know any better, he’d say she’s half dead.

It must be the lighting of the restaurant casting such a gloom on her, because his father looks much the same, with a sickeningly ashen hue to his skin, only made worse by his greying hair thinning with age. Hanzo shakes his head and blinks a few times. The restaurant is dark and the candlelight is the lights are dim. That’s why they look like that. That’s all. 

The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach doesn’t go away, no matter how many times he repeats that to himself.

By the time their food comes, his mother has blessedly finished her interrogation, for now, and moves on to other topics. Hanzo only half-hears her, too concerned with her appearance to really focus on what’s being discussed. 

“The cherry blossoms will be blooming in Hanamura soon,” Azumi says in a voice far too hoarse, far too frail, “Are you two going to make a trip to Japan to see them this year?” 

“Hah, ‘fraid not, Mrs. Shimada. Can’t afford to take the time off.” 

The mention of what was once his home has his heart aching and stomach twisting. He misses the cobblestone streets, the castle they called their home, the arcade that he’d find Genji in day after day, shirking his responsibilities from the clan. Those days were better, when they were boys, when they hadn’t made the mistakes they had. 

“I only visit Hanamura once a year,” Hanzo finds himself saying without thinking, “I miss it so.” 

The entire table quiets down. No conversation, no rhythmic clicking of silverware against the porcelain plates, not even a  _ breath _ . For a few long, silent moments, no one says a word. Hanzo looks between his mother and father’s pale visages and his lover’s confused gaze. Irritation bites at him even as a headache blooms unexpectedly behind his eyelids. What he said was true– there’s only one reason why he visits Hanamura and that’s… 

That’s…?

Why does he only visit Hanamura once a year?

Hanzo drops his eyes to stare at his plate. Does he only visit Hanamura once a year? He swears they went a few times last year. So why does he think he only goes annually? What’s going on with his thoughts? When he tries to chase that lingering train of thoughts, his head protests with a deeper ache behind his eyelids. The only thing that grounds him to the moment is Jesse’s cold hand suddenly on his thigh, keeping him from breaking down under the pain. His head  _ hurts _ . 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he hears Jesse say, muffled, as if he was listening to him under a thick layer of cotton, “Han’s been mighty stressed recently. End of month reports and all that. Even had a nightmare a few days ago that woke him up screamin’.” 

Hanzo nods as best he can as he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. That’s right. This all started with the nightmare. He wasn’t having headaches or weird hallucinations before that. Not that he can remember…  

Not that he can remember  _ anything  _ from before he woke up from his nightmare. 

There’s a cold, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that he can’t ignore. Something is wrong. Something is  _ terribly _ wrong and he doesn’t know what it is. Hanzo looks up from his plate, wincing from the sudden movement, and stares at his parents. His breath catches in his throat at the sight before him. They look like mere husks of themselves, of the healthy people he’d sat down to eat with not even an hour ago, skin sunken under their hollow eyes and bodies frail. 

Corpse-like. 

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, voice clipped. His fiance hums next to him and rubs an ice-cold thumb against his thigh. Hanzo sucks in a shuddery breath before he continues. “I’m not feeling too well. I think we need to go home.” 

Something is wrong. There’s a leaden rock in his midsection weighing him down and ice in his veins. Every inch of him feels cold, numb, and his head still  _ aches _ but he manages to keep his eyes open to watch his parents across the table. Azumi’s gaunt face is practically blue now, as if she’s without air, and her fingertips are blackened, like they’re seconds away from falling off. Sojiro looks more alive than she does, somehow, but the way his hair is falling out of his head in clumps that he doesn’t even seem to notice has Hanzo’s insides twisting in worry.

_ This isn’t _ – 

He doesn’t dare finish that thought. Not right now. Instead, he locks eyes with his mother first, seeing the sadness deep within eyes that were youthful and joy-filled an hour ago, and then his father. The sorrow he sees in each of their gazes strikes him to the core.

Rather than say a word, both of his parents nod at him.

_ He needs to get out of here.  _

Hanzo pushes himself away from the table and walks away, listening to Jesse profusely apologize to his parents and excuse himself and Hanzo even as Hanzo dodges waiters and waitress with faces that are not quite right until he’s out the door into the cold evening air. 

The sky above him isn’t the right color. The pavement beneath his feet looks warped, The buildings in the distance twist and turn in ways they shouldn’t. And Hanzo stares at it all, petrified, rooted to the spot he’s in. It all looks horribly  _ wrong _ . 

Nothing makes sense right now. His parents look like they’re dying– 

Or that they’re already dead.

And Genji, yesterday, when he’d hallucinated– 

_ Was  _ that a hallucination?

The response in his gut tells him what he already knows. 

Jesse bursts through the door and immediately comes up behind him, hands falling onto his shoulders. His presence doesn’t warm him like it usually does. He doesn’t even hear what his fiance is saying, only knows that he’s speaking. Hanzo doesn’t protest when McCree takes his hand and leads him to the car. 

All he can think of is the fact that his left hand is cold in his grip and that it’s smoother than it should be. 

Like metal. 

Despite how it should feel wrong, it’s somehow familiar. Calming. Soothing. He clings to the feeling of familiarity for as long as he can before Jesse helps him into the passenger side and buckles him in. Jesse gets in the driver’s side and says something that Hanzo cannot hear over the rush of his blood in his ears before he turns the car on and they start down the street towards their home. His hand aches to be held in Jesse’s cold one again. When his warm hand settles on top of his thigh in a gesture meant to calm him, Hanzo finds himself tensing up and twisting away from his fiance. 

Hanzo watches the twisted, discolored scenery and the passerbys with faces that look  _ wrong _ the entire way home. Hollow eyes, hollow smiles, and all of them seem to be watching him. The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach only spreads through him the longer he thinks about it, thinks about everything that’s happened over the past few days. Why is this happening? What is it that started this? His thoughts race, combing through every memory. Lunch with his parents, seeing Genji as something he can only describe as a cyborg, waking up to their dogs the morning before that, the nightmare, falling– 

_ He hit the ground– he hit the ground– he hit the ground–  _

Hanzo sucks in a stuttering breath, eyes widening as the sudden, gut-wrenching realization hits him. 

_ This isn’t–  _

Jesse parks the car in their driveway and slips out of the driver’s side. 

Hanzo listens to his footsteps. There’s something missing to his gait. The sound of spurs isn’t present as it should be. As he  _ knows _ it should be. 

Jesse opens the passenger side door for him. Hanzo slips out without a word. He refuses to look up at his face, afraid of what he’ll see. He ducks under the arm that reaches for him. He breaks out in a run towards the front door of their house, leaving Jesse behind. 

Hanzo wrenches open the door and steps into the foyer, listening intently for the tap of their dogs’ nails on the hardwood as they race to greet him as they always do. The sick feeling in his stomach grows the longer the silence drags on. It’s only when he hears Jesse’s footsteps, foreboding and heavy, behind him does Hanzo really accept the reality of this situation. He covers his mouth with a shaking hand to stifle the broken sob that escapes him as Jesse’s warm hands settle on his shoulders. 

“Honeybee?” 

His voice is wrong, all wrong, two-toned and echoing in his ears. Not calming like it usually is. It sends a shiver up his spine in all the wrong ways. He feels like he’s going to vomit just from hearing it.

“Are you alright, sugar?”

Hanzo glances at their walls and their floors. Parts of them have fallen away it seems, patches of white in places that should be carpet or plaster. The TV in their living room is on but it only displays white noise. Everything is decrepit and decaying, a stark contrast to how alive this room was just this morning, hell, even this afternoon when he’d come home to get ready for dinner. Now, it’s all wrong, and he knows why. 

“Hanzo?”

He lets Jesse turn him in place until he’s facing him.

Lets him use the cold metal fingers of his left hand to tilt his face up. 

And looks into the worried face of the gunslinger Jesse McCree, with cowboy hat atop his head and flyaway brown locks framing his face. His lips are pulled into a frown and eyebrows– one bisected with a scar he’d gotten in his Blackwatch days, if Hanzo remembers correctly– knitted together in concern. He looks so familiar, so comforting that Hanzo almost sobs aloud. Instead, he takes a few shaky steps back, watching his expression morph from worried to confused the further he gets away from him.

The red serape draped around his shoulders and the chest armor covering his pectorals. The familiar and gaudy BAMF belt buckle, the holster slung around his hips with Peacekeeper sitting secured on his right side, next to where he keeps extra ammunition. The flashbangs hooked on his belt. The chaps on his long legs leading down to those boots of his. 

Seeing what he’s dressed in confirms any suspicions he had about the nature of the situation he’s found himself in

Hanzo whispers softly, panic starting to surge through his veins the minute he speaks what he should’ve known from the minute he woke up here. 

“ _ This isn’t real. _ ”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familial confrontations are hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR IT BEING SO LATE LMAO KMS??? have fun >:V !!!!

As soon as he says that aloud, the cowboy attire Jesse is wearing melts off his body, replaced by the outfit he was wearing at dinner. There’s a look of alarm on his features that Hanzo’s seen only a handful of times before, when they would find their backs against the wall. He takes a step towards him and he  _ swears _ he can hear the distant jingle of spurs somewhere, in the back of his mind. Jesse reaches a hand out for him– the left one. The one that should be metal, not flesh and blood. 

“Hanzo–”

He can’t listen to him. Can’t hear him speak words in a voice that doesn’t belong to him. Can’t hear whatever  _ it _ is in front of him talk while wearing Jesse’s face. This world isn’t real and, as far as he can tell, neither are its inhabitants. He darts forward, past the creature posing as Jesse McCree, and through the crumbling front door of their home, if he can even call it that. He doesn’t stop running until his lungs burn and his thighs ache from the strain and he’s out of their neighborhood, standing in the middle of the street that is completely desolate, not an ounce of life present, with abandoned cars lining the road sporadically.

It’s like one of those post-apocalyptic movies that Genji and himself would watch in their youth, only without the violence. Hanzo still feels the palpable sense of fear in his midsection, sending ice through every part of his body, but there’s no discernable danger around, which means he’s safe, at least for the moment. He steadies himself and sucks in lungfuls of sulfur-tinged air as he attempts to calm down and take stock of the situation at hand.  _ C’mon, Hanzo, you’re an assassin and a former yakuza boss. You can handle this _ . 

He knows he can’t go back to where the fake Jesse is. Not right now. He needs to parse out everything that’s happened, try to collect his thoughts, and being around him is just going to cause him to panic. So, he starts walking, heading down the streets towards the twisted buildings of the cityscape in the distance, mind racing a mile a minute.

It all started when he hit the ground in his dream.  

Well, no, that was probably the real world. _This_ _world_ is one of two things– either he’s dead and this is the afterlife or this is a dream of some sort. Hanzo snorts. He’s not sure which is more preferable right now. If this is truly a dream then he’s going to have a hellish experience when he gets back to the land of the living. 

_ If he gets back. _

Hanzo sighs, steamrolling past that particular thought lest he fall helpless to the anxiety that comes with it. All the signs so far point to a dream. He would’ve hoped that the afterlife would be a bit less nightmarish than this world is. Then again, it’s like a punishment for him and the sins he’s committed in his lifetime, the blood on his hands he’s never been able to wash away. Hanzo hums, head tilted back to stare at a sky that is somehow the wrong color. Pieces of it are pure white, bright and artificial like fluorescents. Like this world is already starting to fall apart. He glares at them, unwilling to think about the implications of that thought, before dropping his head to focus on where he’s walking, about halfway to the city by now. 

The longer he walks, the more he pieces everything together. McCree’s cold hand should’ve been the first clue but he hadn’t noticed it, equating its temperature to anything but what his hand should’ve been. Genji’s appearance was another, far more obvious sign that something was wrong. Hanzo scrubs a hand down his face while heaving a sigh. Of course he’d deny the sight of him like that– he’d denied it the first time he’d seen him like that in the real world, so of course he’d do the same in this world. 

_ Gotta wake up, darlin’. Can’t be sleepin’ forever, y’hear? _

_ Anija, can you hear me? _

Hanzo barks out a broken laugh against the tears that suddenly bite at his eyes and burn the back of his throat. He chokes them down as best he can. If this being a dream hypothesis is true, those words that McCree and Genji said managed to break through to him from the real world. Or maybe they’re words they said to him before he passed away. Hanzo isn’t sure which, nor is he so sure he wants to know what’s befell him. 

A part of him obviously desperately did not want to accept the hints that were dropped over the past few days regarding where he’s at right now. Understandable, he thinks with a sneer at his twisted, wrong surroundings. If this is the reality of his surroundings, it’s no wonder his subconscious was rejecting the signs. 

At this point, he’s crossed into the city, and is walking past malformed buildings and dead grass. The street lights are all stuck on red, the crosswalks on the hand, as if they’re trying to stop him from going any further. He continues on through the intersections anyways, as the streets are dead, littered with abandoned vehicles covered in rust and debris. Lights flicker inside some of the shops he passes, their signs in shambles and completely unreadable. The puddles he can see on the sidewalk and the asphalt look a lot thicker and darker than water should be. 

More like blood. 

He carefully avoids them, not willing to test the truth to that particular thought. 

Before he knows it, his feet have taken him to where his office building had been. It’s not much of a building anymore– the top half of it has twisted and somehow become a mountain. The closer it gets to the top, the brighter the area surrounding it gets, until it reaches the summit. If Hanzo squints, he can see a tree, a figure seated beside it, and what looks like birds flitting to and fro. There’s a tug in his heart, a hopeful warmth blooming in his midsection, that demands he scale the structure in front of him. 

He starts walking towards the building and stops when he sees his reflection in the warped surface of one of the windows.

Hanzo reaches up to grab at the double collar of his thick jacket with one of his gloved hands. He can feel the weight of his bag and quiver on his back, which he hadn’t noticed before, the strap of which is across his chest. When he goes to take another step forward on the concrete, he can hear the familiar sound of metal on the floor beneath him and can feel the heft of his prosthetics. The only thing missing from his ensemble is Stormbow. He feels strangely naked without it, despite not having it for the past few days now. It’s odd to see himself this way, in clothes that seem strange, considering the past few days. But… 

It’s the most  _ right _ he’s felt since seeing Genji as a cyborg yesterday. 

Hanzo’s pace quickens as he approaches the building. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until he made it to the sun-warmed mountain before him. When he places a hand on the rock, he feels his clothes shift and change on his body until his left chest and arm are exposed and, with a glance at the window just below where the mountain starts, he’s dressed in his normal mission gear. Notably, his hair has grown out to the length it was when he first joined Overwatch, and there’s no metal punched through the bridge of his nose or any in his tongue that he can feel. 

Curious.

He pulls his hand away from the rock and watches his reflection as the clothes on his body revert to what he was wearing before, and his hair recedes back into shorn sides. Tentatively, he reaches forward and places his hand back on the rock. It happens again, his clothes and hair changing to match how he looked when he first joined Overwatch.

Hanzo isn’t sure what this means in the slightest but there’s a tug in his heart that begs him to scale the rock, to reach the summit. And, well, it’s not like he has any other plans right now. 

He sucks in a deep breath, grabs the base of the mountain with both hands, and begins to climb. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Hanzo feels like he’s been climbing for hours by the time he reaches the top. 

Despite that, he’s not tired, nor do his limbs ache. He can feel the sun warming his skin, sinking into his flesh until he feels warm to his very core. The closer he gets to the top, the more at ease he feels, and the louder the birdsong gets. He greedily sucks in lungfuls of clean air. Hanzo hadn’t even realized how stifling the air was down below, in the nightmarish world he’s found himself in, until he’d made it far enough away from the miasma to breathe easy again. 

He’s only a few feet away from the top now. He can hear the birds tweet and sing, can even see them flit to and fro when he tilts his head up to check his progress. From here, he can also see the tattered ends of a ribbon flicking in a warm, easy breeze that Hanzo just noticed. He reaches for it, the stirrings of familiarity starting in the back of his mind, and grabs at the edge of the mountain top.

With a grunt, he pulls himself over the lip of the summit and finds that he’s not alone.

Sitting cross-legged in front of him, back turned to him, is a humanoid figure. It’s covered in chrome plates and artificial muscles, steam vents lined in green on its shoulders and along its back. Hanzo watches it with a furrow to his brows. He  _ knows _ who this is, knows the grey ribbon hanging off its head, knows the carbon fiber antenna-like appendages standing up on either side of its head. Who it is is on the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud, but he can’t quite catch it. 

Until it speaks. 

“Hello, brother.” 

Hanzo sucks in a breath. Metallic, like he’s speaking through a tin can, with a lilting, teasing cadence that Hanzo would know anywhere. It’s far more happy than the last time he heard it. It all hits him in a wave. The figure in front of him is Genji Shimada– or, well, the closest approximation to his brother his mind could conjure up. Or maybe it is his sibling and they all died on that mission…?

He stares at his brother’s back, dumbfounded. Why is he here, on this mountaintop? Why is he meditating? Is this real? Is this the afterlife? A million questions assault him, none of which have an answer, and Hanzo finds himself getting increasingly frustrated the longer silence drags on between himself and what looks like his brother. 

“I can sense your rage from here, Hanzo,” his brother says coolly. Hanzo grinds his teeth at that– what does he know about  _ rage?! _ – and opens his mouth to snap at his sibling when Genji pats the spot on the sun-warmed rock next to him, quieting him without a word. “Come sit with me, anija. We should talk.” 

At first, he wants to tell him that he won’t, wants to turn right around and start back down the mountain he’d just spent hours climbing to get to the top. But something inside him stops him, tells him to sit down beside his brother. There’s a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that insists that this is what he should do.  _ Don’t give in to your impulses _ , a part of him says,  _ It’s not like you have anything better to do here _ . Damn it all, but he’s right. Besides, he feels the need to follow his brother’s instructions. Perhaps his conscience has taken the form of his brother here. 

Gods help him if it has. His brother is the last person he’d think to embody his conscience but, well, this world is already strange enough as it is. He’ll just have to take things as they come.

He takes a deep, bracing breath before he manages to move his feet forward and sink down, cross-legged, to Genji’s left. 

They’re silent for a few long minutes, leaving Hanzo to stare out into the surprisingly blue sky before them. It’s clear up here, a gentle breeze rustling his hair and the fletchings of the arrows stuck in his quiver. He slowly closes his eyes, listening to the quiet whistle of the wind in his ears and the tinny call of sparrows in the tree to his right. The sun, although he cannot see it, warms his skin. Just being here, sitting down beside his only sibling, calms him. 

Maybe he had reacted badly when his brother had said something about his anger. It’s true– he is incredibly angry at this situation. More frustrated than anything. He’s lost in a world that may or may not be in his own head, or he’s dead and the powers that be decided to launch him into his own personal Hell. Either way, he’s lashing out at his ‘brother’ when he knows he shouldn’t. Admitting that calms him more than he likes to admit.

Genji breaks the silence between them, taking Hanzo out of his self-reflection. “So, brother, I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I can answer,” he pauses, which Hanzo opens his eyes at, and turns to see his sibling holding up three metal fingers in his direction, expressionless mask turned his way, “ _ three _ of them, so choose wisely, Anija.” 

Three questions? What is this?

Well, that’s just it, Hanzo has no idea what  _ this _ is. This world, the people (if you can call them that) around him, the very  _ mountain _ that the two of them are on top of– whatever all this is, he’s got no place to ask questions as to why his brother can only answer three. No need to waste one on something stupid when he needs to get to the bottom of what’s going on. 

Hanzo sucks in a breath and, with head still turned towards his brother, asks, slowly, “Where exactly are we, Genji?” He holds his breath, waiting for his brother to answer and silently hoping this isn’t goi

ng to be like a genie’s trick in which he grants a wish but there’s always a twist. 

“At this exact moment, we are on top of a mountain, next to a tree–”

_ Motherfucker. _

“–but both of those are only figments of your imagination, because we are stuck in your head, dear brother,” Genji finishes with a wave of his hand. Hanzo can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice but doesn’t call his brother out on it. He’d managed to irritate him with the obvious answer for a second but he did, ultimately, answer his question in the end, so he’ll forgive him for that. 

In his own head, huh? Well, that clears up the whole ‘dead or alive’ question. Hanzo’s not sure he’s comforted by that knowledge, though. Being in his mind has always been the worst place for him to be. It’s filled with all the dark things he locks away and only has to confront when he’s drowning in liquor, or in his dreams, or both, if it’s a particularly unfortunate night. Many a time he’s thought about taking that final step, the one decision you can’t undo, while his inner demons mercilessly assaulted him. And every time, he’s managed to stop himself, thinking of his brother, his duty to Overwatch, redeeming himself and his honor, and…

Hanzo taps his fingers on the sun-warmed stone beneath him, listening to his brother’s metallic breathing beside him. If he’s in his head, and where they are right now is a figment of his imagination, then that means that everything else here is as well. His mother, his father, his husband, their quaint home and their four dogs– all of it isn’t real. Hanzo had figured that out but hearing his brother confirm it is something else. The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach returns with a vengeance, though he tries his hardest to ignore it. There’s no use in lamenting over daydreams, he tells himself. It doesn’t stop how his heart aches, knowing the joy he felt here was based on nothing but smoke and mirrors. 

“How did I get here?” Hanzo asks, voice far quieter than he means it to be. 

“You climbed up the mountain–”

“ _ Genji _ .”

“Alright, alright,” Genji placates, waving a nonchalant hand Hanzo’s way. “That ‘dream’ you had a few days ago–”

“Was real, I know.”

“Then why are you asking me how you got here?” Genji throws his head back and sighs dramatically– every bit as theatric as his real-world counterpart it seems– before he continues on without prompting from Hanzo, “Head injuries, comas, trauma both mental and physical– your subconscious decided to make a world for you to live in in the meantime.” 

Hanzo nods. It makes sense to him now. He’s never been good with the whole ‘coping’ thing. Liquor is usually his best bet when he finds himself in an episode. That or… well, McCree, but he’s made it a point to try not to rely on the man too much, considering how he feels about him and the burden that it must be to have someone so broken and with hands so bloody they can never be clean pine after someone with as good a heart as Jesse McCree. It’s no wonder his subconscious leaped at the chance to create a perfect world for him to live in at the first chance it could. 

Unlucky (or, perhaps, lucky? He’s not sure yet, still deliberating on it) for him, his demons always have a way of finding him, even when he’s at his happiest. 

“One more question, brother. That’s all you get.” Genji says sagely, expressionless metal face turned towards Hanzo. It hangs in the air between them, leaving Hanzo to soak his words in, before Genji exclaims in a more gleeful tone than is expected by the mood (Genji’s never been good at reading a situation), “And then it’s my turn!”

Hanzo knows if he could see his sibling’s face, it would be marred by a wide grin and ecstatic eyes. 

He lets out a sigh through his nostrils and turns to face the sky once more, ruminating on the last question he has to ask. What is it about the blue horizon that makes his heart ache like this? Knowing it’s not real? Wondering if he’ll ever see it in person again? There’s a sense of finality in its expanse. The sparrow’s song is melancholic. The breeze is colder than it was just a few moments ago. The sun’s warmth seems to have gone away. 

Hanzo ignores it all and focuses on his brother’s presence next to him instead. It feels almost palpable, like he’s really there and not just a figment of his imagination. Perhaps he is there in the real world. Laid up in a hospital bed, bandaged and bruised, wires and tubes connected to him keeping him alive but not coherent, with his brother worried sick by his side. Or, well, he hopes he’d be there by his side, even after all he’s done. 

There’s a thousand apologies he hasn’t made yet, a thousand things he has left to say, a thousand memories he has yet to make. And here he is, stuck inside his own head instead, not even  _ trying _ to make it back to himself. How can he find the honor and redemption he’s been seeking for so long if he lets something as trivial as a head injury do him in? He is Hanzo Shimada, former heir to the Shimada clan, and he will  _ not _ be deterred. 

Hanzo sucks in a bracing breath of the cool mountain air, feeling his resolve come back to him with the inhale, and asks– 

“Genji, how do I get out of here?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” 

The answer he expected– the one he  _ hoped _ for– is absolutely not what came out of Genji’s mouth.

“Wh–  _ you _ said I could ask you any of three questions?!” Hanzo sputters out, flabbergasted at his brother’s response. 

“Yeah, I never said the answers would be what you want to hear, now did I?” Genji teases, “Besides, I know about as much as you know, considering I’m as real as everything else in this world of your creation, Hanzo.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Right. 

He forgot that he’s been interacting with a figment of his imagination and not his actual brother. A part of him was kind of hoping maybe Genji is some sort of spirit guide or all-knowing figure that could help him escape this nightmare world, rather than allowing him to ask three questions like a strange mix between a Sphynx and a genie all wrapped up in his brother’s synthetic skin. If he is some unholy Sphynx-genie combination, he’s a shitty one– Hanzo is walking out of this encounter more confused than he was walking into it. Which, when he thinks about it, is par for the course for interactions with his brother, real or imagined.

“Well, you’ve had your turn,” Genji says with a wave of his hand in Hanzo’s face, snapping him out of his thoughts, “And now it’s  _ my _ turn.” His brother lays his hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze, prompting Hanzo to turn to face him as best he can. He watches Genji’s impassive metal face, flicks his eyes across its expanse as if it’ll shift with expression. Genji’s other hand raises to his face plate. 

Hanzo stares as the metal mask unhooks from the sides of his brother’s face. He winces at the pressure-release noise it makes as Genji pulls it away from his face and exposes the scarred expanse of it to the open air. 

Seeing it never gets easier, no matter how many times he’s removed his mask. Every furrow in his flesh is a reminder of what he’s done, what he can never forget, what wakes him up shaking in a cold sweat most mornings. While trying not to focus on the sight of Genji’s marred face, Hanzo clenches his hands, digs his blunt nails into his palm, and goes rigid where he sits as he waits for his brother’s question.

Genji’s eyes are as sad as they were when he confronted him on the balcony in Hanamura. They’re red-rimmed, yellowish, and an acidic green that burns Hanzo straight to his heart. The way that his brother looks at him has every single one of his mistakes rushing back to him. He cannot wash his brother’s blood from his hands, no matter how hard he tries. Despite it all, he doesn’t turn away, and faces his brother as best he can. Faces the biggest mistake he ever made. 

“Brother, why will you not forgive yourself?” 

Hanzo sucks in a breath. 

_ Because he committed one of the ultimate crimes. Because he raised his sword against his brother. Because he couldn’t even dare to face him when he did so. He’d practically cleaved him in two with the spirits of the dragons welling within him. Because he left Genji bleeding out on the floor as the castle was torn apart by Overwatch around them. Because he hadn’t even checked if he was alive before he’d run like the coward he is.  _

“You know it, don’t you, Hanzo? That none of that matters to me? I have forgiven you, brother–”

“You shouldn’t have,” Hanzo’s voice is broken, hushed, choked with tears unshed, “I do not deserve it. What I did to you–” 

“Was at the behest of the clan. You were manipulated, Hanzo–”

Hanzo breaks. 

He slams his open palms down against the rock beneath them, stopping Genji’s speech in its tracks. Hanzo hunches over, pressing his forehead to the cool mountain top even as he starts to shake, grounding himself as best he can. He cannot hear it. He  _ can’t _ . Remembering it all is–  _ fuck _ , his breath is coming short, his head is spinning, and all he can see is his forearms steeped in blood, a blood-stained sword clenched in one hand, red dripping from his fingertips to the  _ tatami _ mat beneath them, the sight of his brother’s mangled body before him, and  _ red, blood, the clan, honor your father, he is out of line, kill your brother, brother, brother _ – 

“Brother.” 

There’s a metal hand in his hair. 

“It is not your fault. I do not blame you.”

Hanzo knows that Genji doesn’t blame him but he blames himself. It was his fault, he was a coward, he didn’t stand up to them, he failed him, he betrayed his brother’s trust, he cannot forgive himself for what he’s done– 

“You know already that the fault lies with those that told you to do so. That took advantage of your weakened emotional state, right after father passed away. You were manipulated by the clan, Hanzo. And do you know how  _ I  _ know you know this?” 

What does that mean? All Hanzo is certain of is that the fault lies with him for his cowardice. There is not a single doubt in his mind that he is the one, the only one, who can be blamed for this. He stares at the rock beneath him, at the way his clenched fists shake against the jagged rough surface, and knows that this personal hell his mind has plunged him into is truly all a monster like himself  _ deserves _ . 

“Hanzo, I am a  _ part  _ of you.”

Hanzo snaps his head up, a snarl on his lips. He  _ knows _ that already, they established that earlier, so why–  

Genji smiles down at him with scarred lips and eyes crinkling with joy, stopping Hanzo from snapping at him without a single word, and continues on. 

“This form is a physical manifestation of your subconscious.” 

He pauses to gesture to his chrome body before reaching his hands out and grasping Hanzo by the shoulders. The weight of his palms is grounding and warm, despite the fact that he’s only a part of his imagination. Hanzo stares into his brother’s neon green irises, the red-rimmed sclera, the tears he can see welling up in his eyes. As if mimicking his sibling, the tell-tale burn of tears start at the corners of his eyes.

“Everything I am telling you, dear brother, is something you already know, deep down,” Genji pauses to suck in a stuttering breath, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over, making tracks across the marred expanse of his cheeks. His brother squeezes his shoulders and Hanzo feels his own tears run down his face. “If you truly thought you were the only one to blame in this, I would not be able to tell you otherwise.”

_ He’s not lying _ . Genji is his brother and he  _ knows _ when he lies, his tells have remained the same from their youth. Hanzo stares at his sibling, lets his words sink in. It is not often that he will admit it but… Genji is right. He knows he’s been right for some time now. Hanzo wonders how long he’s been lying to himself, how long he’s been denying that what he’d done wasn’t entirely his fault. All this time he’s been clinging to that guilt, unwilling to forgive himself, to move on. 

Hanzo’s grown so familiar to the weight of his trauma that he’s scared of not knowing who he’ll be without it.

But he’s prepared. He cannot stay this way forever. There’s a flutter of hope starting in his chest, a warmth blossoming in his midsection as his resolve hardens. Life is short, fleeting. If he does not take the steps now, who knows when he’ll get the chance to again? 

“It may take me some time,” Hanzo says as he pushes himself up so he can more fully face his brother. Already he can feel the weight he’s burdened for a decade start to fall from his shoulders. “But I will try, Genji. I will try to forgive myself, with your help.” 

Hanzo isn’t prepared for the way Genji pulls him in by the shoulders into a crushing hug. He tucks his head over Hanzo’s shoulder, squeezes him against him. Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat. It feels  _ real _ , like his brother is there, hugging him for the first time in decades, since far before that night, back to when father was still alive. He can’t stop the tears that start flowing more freely down his face, nor the way he sobs as he wraps his arms around his brother in kind. The warmth that floods him at the familial contact he’s desperately craved for so long is almost overwhelming.

This is what he wants– a brother that loves him, a brother that forgives him, a  _ brother _ , in all meanings of the word. 

“I forgive you, Hanzo,” Genji says into his shoulder, “I forgive you. So please, come home.”

“I will,” he says into his brother’s shoulder in kind, even as he feels the apparition in his arms start to dissipate into the air around them, “I’m coming home, Genji.”

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING WE HOPE YOU LIKED IT !!! That nightmare really worked Hanzo up but McCree will make it better next chapter uwu !!! We'll be posting every week until we finish up!! We hope you'll stick around! Let us know what you think !!


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